


Stand Up

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: "i'll kick your ass", "no I'LL kick YOUR ass first!", Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, PLEASE don’t think too hard about it, Platonic and Romantic stuff, So how are you, Some Characters are Older, a few of the characters like anime, a lot of platonic - Freeform, also just because olivier, and automail exists because i said so, and friendships, and there's a fencing class too, anime characters....liking anime, anime exists as well, as per the usual, because reasons, but this time, fight me, i didn’t think too hard about it and i implore you to do the same, i made the age gap smaller because reasons, i'm just rambling by now, if you have gotten this far into the tags then congrats, it's still called amestris and xing tho, izumi is the best martial arts teacher, like a lot, ling annoys lan fan, ling is chaotic, lots of personal rivalries, lovely weather we're having eh, mei still plays with knives, oh and xiao mei is a beanie boo stuffed animal now, oh yeah and the military academy is a thing, so is kpop, so take that as you may as well, some are younger, take that as you may, taught by olivier and bradley, they all beat each other up, they have an excuse, this ain't a romance fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Their instructor keeps saying “One is all, and all is one.” They’re practicing martial arts, not philosophy. So just what the hell does that mean?A modern FMA AU where everyone is thrown (rather unceremoniously) into the same self-defense class with various levels of reluctance. In which Ed is impulsive, Winry is exasperated, Al keeps the peace, Mei likes K-pop, Lan Fan is 500% done, Ling is clingy, Paninya is sarcastic, Riza overworks herself, Roy is an intelligent idiot, and Izumi has to keep them all in line.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric & Riza Hawkeye, Edward Elric & Roy Mustang, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell, Lan Fan/Ling Yao, Mei Chan | May Chang & Lan Fan, Mei Chan | May Chang/Alphonse Elric, Paninya & Winry Rockbell, Rebecca Catalina & Riza Hawkeye, Riza Hawkeye & Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39





	1. take it one step at a time (first impressions)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first AU (if you don’t count the chatfic.) Each of these chapters following this one can either be enjoyed on their own (ish?) or as a whole (recommended.) This was super fun to make, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!
> 
> The primary chapter titles are excerpts from the The Cab song "Stand Up," which is also the title of this fic. I'll probably run out of lyrics at one point and switch to a different song, but until that happens, this is what I’ll be doing.
> 
> Author’s Comment: I honestly don’t know why there aren’t more martial arts class AUs. The characters have to learn all that karate and kung fu SOMEwhere, right?

Izumi Curtis prided herself on being a woman of punctuality and readiness. Punctuality because being on time often meant procuring respect (unless it was one of those blasted meetings with Bradley-- _that_ particular bastard could wait). And readiness because if you weren’t prepared, you often left the dojo covered in bruises--too many of her students had learned that the hard way. 

So it was only natural that, after receiving her class roster for the year, she would look up each of her students’ names to get a basic understanding of who they were. 

_This was easier than I expected,_ she mused, clicking through student profiles on Maier University’s website, a cup of Earl Grey tea resting next to her laptop. Sig was already asleep in the other room, his snores muffled by the closed door that had to be kept closed at all times for their marriage to survive. She loved Sig with all of her heart--but the nightly chorus was something she could live without.

Her dreadlocks, free of their usual ponytail, fell loosely over her shoulders as she leaned forward. Why did the website have to make its print so damn _small?_ Squinting slightly, she began reading the first profile with a name matching one on the sheet of paper she was currently using as a coaster.

 _Chang, Mei. 16 years old. Beginning Central Medical School on full scholarship. Part of the Xing Foreign Relations group._ Her age wasn’t all that surprising--Xingese students started schooling much younger than Amestrians. It was more likely she was a hard worker rather than a genius, although to have a full scholarship...that was rather impressive.

 _del Torres, Paninya. 19 years old. Sophomore at MU. Majors: Anatomy & Physiology, Robotics. NOTE: was in a train accident at age 6 and is now outfitted with two automail legs. _Izumi glanced at the small picture included in the profile. Paninya’s skin tone was near to that of the Ishvalens, but her eyes were a dark brown instead of red. She was looking at the camera with a mischievous smirk instead of the bland smile or stone-faced blankness one usually saw in these photos--she might have to keep an eye on this one.

_Elric, Alphonse. 18 years old. In Central Medical School with a focus on physical therapy. NOTE: Was in a coma for a period of 21 months at 10 years old due to the Siccabitus disease and sustained minor muscular damage._

A child prodigy, eh? That was interesting, but not unheard of. Izumi took a sip of her tea and checked her list. He had a brother--Edward. Her fingernails clacked on the keyboard as she typed in his name.

_Elric, Edward. 19 years old. Entered MU at age 15; is currently a junior. Majors: Astrophysics, Chemistry. Freshman at Central Military Academy. NOTE: Has automail left leg due to Siccabitus disease._

These stories just kept getting more tragic, Izumi mused. Moving past the loss of limbs--another child prodigy? Things really _were_ getting interesting now. 

_Hawkeye, Riza. 20 years old. Senior at MU. Majors: Psychology, Mathematical Physics, Computer Science. Senior at Central Military Academy; graduating early on full scholarship due to sharpshooting skills._ A military girl, eh? _And_ a triple major--how the hell was this girl going to fit in martial arts training around all _that?_ Izumi shrugged internally. Maybe kids these days regarded stress differently than she did. She moved on to the next one, hoping she had read the name right through the brownish tea stain that had appeared on the roster.

_Mustang, Roy. 21 years old. Senior at MU. Majors: Weapons of Mass Destruction, Chemical Physics, Strategic Studies. Senior at Central Military Academy._

Another military kid? God, they were everywhere nowadays. A triple major, with Weapons of Mass Destruction among those? This year’s kids were getting more interesting by the letter. Either he was a hard worker, or knew a way to charm teachers into passing him. Both were quite useful skills.

 _Zhang, Lan Fan. 19 years old. Sophomore at MU. Majors: Martial Arts, Philosophy. Immigrated from Xing with maternal grandfather at age 8. NOTE: Has automail left arm due to Siccabitus disease._ Did all of these kids have to have such damn _sad_ backstories? Anyway, in the long run, it wasn’t the past that mattered--it was your ability to learn from it.

Or, if you were in Izumi’s dojo, it was your skill in hand-to-hand combat.

She checked the back of the roster. Only seven students? That was a much smaller class size than usual. Not that there was anything wrong with that. It meant she could spend more time on individuals and not get chewed out for it. Not that she cared about the remonstrations. She hoped Bradley had gotten dozens of blockheads in his fencing class--it would serve the old pig right.

She stretched her arms languorously behind her head and yawned. She had a feeling this would be an extremely… _interesting_ class. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I promise it gets better after this—I already have four chapters on the assembly line. This first one was supposed to be an introduction to the characters’ situations in the AU; a bit like the first episode of FMA: Brotherhood, actually. (I know this chapter is super short. They’ll get longer. A whole lot longer. Trust me.)
> 
> Please comment. I don’t want to seem too desperate for acceptance, but, well, I am. Very. So all comments are very much appreciated!


	2. gotta make your own luck (corn silk)

Ed sighed, glaring at Winry with considerable ferocity. “I don’t see _why_ I have to do martial arts,” he grumbled. She was the whole reason he had to wake up at noon on a Saturday, and he wouldn’t let her forget it. (Could you believe it? _Noon!_ He never woke up that early unless he had class.)

“I told you, it’s to hone your combat skills so you won’t always break _my_ automail every time you get in a fight,” Winry snapped. Her reserves of patience were running lower than they had in a very long time. “It’s not about _you_ , it’s about those masterpieces of an arm and leg affixed to your body.”

“And I thought you liked me for my personality,” Ed mumbled.

Winry simply raised an eyebrow. Well, of course she didn’t just like him for his automail (though that was a good monetary bonus). She liked him for many other reasons. She just couldn’t think of _specific_ ones right now. Especially when he was being this purposely difficult. “You are enrolled. And no amount of _anything_ you do will change that.”

Ed gave an enormous sigh and flopped against the passenger side window. He didn’t _need_ to be doing this. His limbs were perfectly fine, thank you very much. He was certain Winry just liked torturing him.

The object of his discontentment (besides the scowling blonde one sitting next to him) squatted across a pothole-ridden parking lot, staring at him with a line of square windows on its front wall. It was a low-slung, one-story building of white stucco, blending into the rest of the strip mall it was attached to. Sandwiched between a fencing school and burrito joint, the Academy of Martial Arts and Self-Defense wasn’t much to look at. But considering how excited Winry had sounded when she had called him about it, it was some kind of gateway to immortality.

As he watched, an older-looking girl with blonde hair accompanied by a dark-haired boy who looked the same age hopped out of a red Honda and slipped inside. His new classmates, maybe. Ugh, he probably wouldn’t know anyone except Alphonse unless any of them were in his classes at the university. 

He glanced at Al in the backseat. He was blissfully unaware of the world around him, both lime-green earbuds jammed firmly in his ears, head nodding gently to unknown music while he did something on his phone—probably playing Pac-Man or one of those other old arcade games he’d somehow managed to bootleg off a shady website. 

Ed worried about Al. His brother was a good fighter, sure, and he was strong. But he had been in a coma for almost _two years_ (that had been six years ago, but _still_ ), and Ed wasn’t sure if he was strong _enough_ to cope with the high-demand physical activity of martial arts. There were times when he would look pained, as if even something simple as walking was too much for him. There was probably, no, _definitely_ permanent muscular damage in his legs, at the very least. 

Ed felt the familiar spike of guilt that came with thinking about Al’s coma. It had been for his own good, he constantly told himself. He wouldn’t have survived the Siccabitus. He hadn’t been strong enough. And he had _refused_ to let his little brother feel the pain of his limbs slowly wasting away. Really, a coma had been the best option, even if it had been induced by two eleven-year-olds whose only medical knowledge came from textbooks.

But there was always that nagging guilt. The part of his brain that said _he blames you, he definitely blames you, why would he not blame you._ The part that said it was _his_ fault that simple things like walking or kicking a soccer ball could pain Al. The part that asked him on an endless loop _what if you hadn’t put him in that coma, what if he hadn’t lost nearly two years of his life plus recovery?_

“Are you even _listening_ to me?”

Ed snapped back to the present, turning around to look at Winry again. She looked to be on just this side of murderous, and he was grateful there wasn’t an easily weaponized wrench in close proximity. “No, not really,” he said, indifferent. “Repeat that?”

Winry huffed. “I _said,_ your class starts in six minutes, so you two are going to get your asses out of my car and in that building _right now_ . Or there will be _consequences._ Granny already paid for a month of classes, so you’re not backing out now, or you’ll have the wrath of _both_ Rockbell women to face.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Al said. He had taken out his earbuds and was winding them into a neat little coil. Ed's earbuds always ended up as knotted messes that took precious minutes to untangle. “Punches are easier to dodge than two crescent wrenches thrown at the same time. C’mon, Brother.” Al opened the car door--he had to shove his entire weight against it, as Winry’s pickup was over a decade old and she did all the maintenance herself.

After some indistinct grumbling, Ed hopped out of the car and trudged after his brother. He _refused_ to enjoy this. Even if he did take a certain satisfaction in knocking people around, he knew he wouldn’t enjoy a class where all you _did_ was learn how to knock people around. He was an _intellectual._ He was enrolled in one of the most prestigious universities in the country. And now Winry thought he needed to re-learn martial arts--it was practically an insult.

Al didn’t seem to share his disgust. He hummed happily under his breath as he crossed the parking lot, looking almost _eager_. That traitor. 

The interior of the Academy of Martial Arts was just as unimpressive as its exterior. The door opened into a linoleum-tiled hallway with doors lining its right wall. They had been painted a bland green, but the paint had peeled away in places, and in others, it looked like it had been scraped away with the fingernail of a bored past student. Wooden benches were placed at seemingly random intervals opposite these. The door closest to them was open--Al peeked inside with some trepidation, while Ed breezed through it immediately, refusing to show any nervousness. 

The room looked almost exactly like every other self-defense classroom Ed had ever been in (which, now that he thought about it, there weren’t that many.) It was relatively large, with windows lining the right-hand wall affording a lovely view of the parking lot. The floor was covered in those padded mats with a navy plastic covering (the kind present in every middle school gym in a primary color) , and the walls were a flat, uninteresting white. Several people were already inside. Sitting against the wall closest to them were the older blonde girl Ed had seen earlier and a short, round-faced girl with two dark buns on top of her head. She looked vaguely familiar--

“Mei?” Alphonse had stopped, staring at her.

“Oh--Alphonse!” she said, looking up. She seemed just as surprised as Al. “I didn’t know you did martial arts!”

“Yeah, well...I didn’t know you did, either!” he responded, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Ed finally remembered where he knew Mei from--Al had briefly introduced the two of them when Ed had come to pick him up from class once. From his recollections, her hair had been in several thin braids and her face had been mostly hidden by a pale pink scarf (so that was why he hadn’t recognized her at first!), and she had been wearing hot-pink headphones with panda faces on them. This previously noticed love for pink seemed to be present in the rest of her clothing as well--a cropped pink hoodie with the logo of a band he didn't know but vaguely recognized as well as bright pink sneakers. Oh--and the first time he had seen her, he had also noticed that she was absolutely smitten with Al. And it seemed the feeling was mutual.

Ed heroically resisted the urge to snicker loudly at this twist of fate. He decided he wasn’t going to tease Al about it--well, at least until after class ended and they were back in the relative privacy of Winry’s Toyota. 

Al didn’t know how lucky he was to have such a good brother. 

The blonde girl, who Ed vaguely recalled seeing in Study Hall a few times, looked faintly amused at the proceedings, although she didn’t say anything.

Ed scanned the room. It seemed to be a small class, unless some people weren’t there yet. There was the blonde girl (her name started with R, he was pretty sure--Riley? Rose? Rama?), and the black-haired guy who he had seen get out of the car with Blondie. Ed scowled slightly--there was something about that guy that already rubbed him the wrong way; maybe it was his annoying smirk or that smug way he looked around like he already _knew_ he was better than everyone else. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions, but Ed’s predictions about people never failed to be at _least_ 60% correct, much to Al’s amusement and Winry’s mild satisfaction. There was Mei, of course, who was talking to Al (surprise, surprise), and another black-haired girl with glasses that Ed didn't recognize at all. 

Ed heard footsteps behind him, and he barely managed to leap aside before a girl pelted past, nearly knocking him over. “Watch it!” he snarled. Normally, he'd be nicer, but for one thing he didn't want to be here, for another his brother had turned traitor and was enjoying himself, and now he had to spend two hours in this room with nothing worthwhile to do.

The girl, who had deeply tanned skin and dark hair pulled into a short ponytail, merely grinned cheekily. “Sorry, didn’t see you,” she said without the faintest trace of remorse. The 'sorry' had merely been for politeness, as many 'sorry's were.

 _Don’t you dare say it’s because I’m too short,_ he thought viciously. _If you do, I_ will _kill you in the most painful way possible._ The girl somehow seemed to receive his mental message, for she merely leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, beginning to survey the room.

Ed’s phone buzzed. He fumbled around a bit before finally sorting through the various detritus collected in his hoodie pocket (candy wrappers, mostly, along with a few shreds of paper and an eraser shaped like a pumpkin) and yanking out his phone, nearly dropping it. And anyone who knew him knew that had happened way too many times. He had a text from Winry, one that was quickly followed by another.

[6:02] _When do I come pick you guys up_

[6:02] _Wait has your class started yet_

[6:02] 7:15, and nope

[6:03] _PM or AM_

[6:03] the fuck do you think

[6:03] _I think PM but I wouldn’t mind AM_

[6:04] _Your teacher can keep you two for as long as they like_

[6:04] gasp. You wound me.

[6:04] _Ed if i wanted to wound you I would just use a wrench_

[6:05] fair enough.

“Listen up!”

A new voice rang out across the room, and Ed hastily turned off his phone and shoved it into his pocket. In his experience, teachers, no matter the subject, tended to place a hefty punishment on students caught using their personal devices in class--as a consequence, he had gotten quite good at hiding his phone quickly and quietly if the need arose. 

He looked up, seeking the source of the voice...and blinked.

A slim woman with dark dreadlocks was scowling at him from the doorway. No, not just him--she was scowling at the entire class equally, while somehow making it seem as though she was displeased with each of them as individuals. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest, and she stood as though she was prepared to take on a charging rhino with her bare hands. She managed to command respect and a certain sort of terrified reverence despite being only a few inches taller than Ed himself. And this was coming from Edward Elric, who, if you asked any of his professors, despised all forms of authority and refused to respect anyone who, in his eyes, didn’t deserve it. 

This woman, he knew, was not a force to be trifled with.

“I’m Izumi Curtis,” she said. Her voice was louder and more commanding than Ed thought should really be possible, considering the size of the woman behind it. “And I’m the only martial arts teacher here at the moment, so you’re stuck with me for as many classes as you take, just like I’m stuck with you.”

Ugh, were they going to have to do one of those cheesy icebreaker games? Ed scowled.

Izumi suddenly turned to Al. “You! You’re Alphonse Elric?” 

Ed blinked in surprise. That was unexpected.

“Yes, ma'am,” Al squeaked.

She gave him a once-over. “I heard you had a bout with the Siccabitus disease. Left you with a bit of muscular damage, correct?” Ed’s heart twinged at the mention, but Izumi steamrolled ahead. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you, but don’t expect me to treat you like someone with all of their muscles in perfect condition, either.” Al blinked. This wasn’t the usual reaction to his disability--it was usually some form of pity. 

Izumi scanned the room, raking her dark gaze over one of them in turn. “You are _all_ individuals,” she said, emphasizing every word clearly. “Each one of you. And in this class, I’m going to help you expand on your individual abilities to develop a fighting style right for _you_ . You might be more inclined to styles stemming from jiujitsu more than kung fu, for example. Several of you attended martial arts classes in the past, correct?” There were a few tentative nods. “Where you were each treated as part of a set, made to do the same forms over and over again, correct? Treated as part of an _all_ , instead of as a _one_ .” There were a few more self-assured nods. “Well, uniformity is _bullshit!”_

Al jumped. The corner of Ed's mouth quirked upwards. Maybe he could actually not hate this class--after all, a teacher who swore so readily and vehemently couldn't be all bad.

“You are _all individual human beings._ You are _ones_ . I, frankly, cannot stress this enough. And the reason I am here is to help you reach your fullest as an individual, and as part of a group of individuals. Both as a _one_ , and as an _all_.” She leaned back slightly after this speech, surveying the faces before her--some shocked, some determined, some a mixture of the two. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smirk. “But I have to kick all of your asses first.”

There were a few moments of silence. Ed could sense the collective fear and apprehension radiating off his fellow students. This woman was quite possibly the scariest person he’d ever met. Except perhaps Winry when he had broken both his automail arm _and_ his leg that _one_ time. But even _that_ was a very, very close call.

Izumi glanced at her roster. “Del Torres, Paninya!” she barked. “You’re first.”

The tan-skinned girl who had nearly knocked him over skipped over to stand in front of her. Actually _skipped_ . Who did that anymore? She had a huge, seemingly entirely genuine smile plastered across her round face. What was this girl playing at? She was just about to have her ass kicked--Izumi had practically guaranteed it. Why did she look so _happy_?

“The rest of you can wait in the hall. Paninya, you’re being assessed first.” Izumi narrowed her eyes at the remaining students. “Are you wondering why she’s first? It makes no alphabetical sense, correct?”

Silence. No one knew whether to say yes or no, or even whether to shake their head or nod.

Izumi gave a deep sigh. “It’s because I wanted to. Now, out!” She pointed to the door, as if they hadn’t noticed it. After a pause, Ed walked to the door, trying not to move too quickly. This lady was _scary_.

Al sat down in the middle of one of the benches, with Mei quickly following to sit on his right. Ed grinned and sat on his left, noting Al’s uncomfortable but pleased expression. The dark-haired girl with glasses sat by herself on the bench to their right, while the blonde girl (her name was something like Theresa, maybe?) sat next to the dark-haired guy the the left. No one seemed inclined to speak, so after a few seconds, Ed surreptitiously pulled out his phone. He didn’t have any texts from Winry--pity, that--but...wait. It _wasn’t_ a pity Winry hadn’t texted him. It was normal. Completely. He didn’t _want_ her to text him, of course. Naturally.

“This is awkward,” said Mei suddenly.

Everyone nodded slowly. It was. But none of them could really do much about it. Unless, it seemed, their name was Mei and they were entirely, _thoroughly_ shameless.

“My name is Mei Chang,” she continued. “I’m from Xing. I can throw knives. I have a stuffed panda named Xiao Mei that I take everywhere with me and I’m not ashamed, so don’t even think about embarrassing me about it.” She scowled, then stuck out her hand to the dark-haired girl.

Yep. Absolutely shameless.

The dark-haired girl shook Mei’s hand uncertainly, but still didn’t say anything. Maybe she was just shy?

The blonde girl spoke up. “I’m Riza Hawkeye.” So that was her name--he’d been kind of close with Theresa. “I’m in the military academy and have a dog named Black Hayate.” She elbowed the guy next to her.

He cleared his throat self-importantly. This guy _already_ was on Ed’s I Hate You list, and he hadn’t even _said_ anything yet. It was just something about that smug smirk that screamed _I am better than you and don’t think I’ll let you forget it._ “I’m Roy Mustang.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Blondie--no, Riza--glared at him. He raised an eyebrow. She sighed quietly and rubbed her temples like she had a headache. There was something about those two that made Ed think they had known each other for a very long time. But they didn’t seem like they were together…were they? 

Alphonse suddenly spoke up, saving Ed the effort. “I’m Alphonse Elric and this is Edward, my brother.” Ed gave a half-wave in what he hoped was a jaunty, disinterested fashion.

Riza leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired girl. “What’s your name?” she prompted, sounding a bit like a preschool teacher trying to get her students to talk.

“Lan Fan Zhang,” the girl said softly. And that was it. She didn’t say anything else. She was either really self-important, or just introverted.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Even Mei the Shameless couldn't figure out a way to get people to talk and after a few seconds just started playing Candy Crush on her (guess what) _pink_ phone. Honestly, what was this girl's deal with pink? Her love for the color didn't seem to be intentionally ironic. 

Ed alternated between scrolling through something random on his phone and glancing around at the people surrounding him. None of them were as strikingly dressed as Mei. Lan Fan, the quiet girl, was nearly drowning in an oversize black hoodie with what looked like a line of white Xingese characters running up the side of the sleeves. Her leggings were black as well, as were her glasses' frames--in fact, the only color on her person was on her shoes, a pair of Converse high-tops with a geometric design in primary colors that looked like it had been painted on.

Riza seemed to be dressed in the same vein--a simple gray turtleneck (strange, it wasn't all that cold out), black leggings, and plain white sneakers. Even her phone case was a dull grey-blue. Next to her, Roy was dressed almost as plainly: olive green shirt under an unzipped dark gray windbreaker and jeans. Ed couldn't understand how someone could dress so neutrally--he himself was clad in a positively elegant bright red hoodie that had made Al sigh when he saw it for some unknown reason.

Suddenly, the front door at the end of the hall was thrown open. Ed whipped around, trying to assess this new threat before blinking in confusion. 

Lan Fan hid her head in her hands and groaned softly.

“YO!” The kid threw up a hand. “Lan Fan!”

“Hello, Ling,” Lan Fan sighed, her voice slightly muffled. “Why are you here?”

“That’s no way to treat your favorite person,” Ling said, crossing his arms. He looked to be about Ed’s age; Xingese, with long, black hair pulled into a slim ponytail and wearing a hoodie in an eye-searing shade of yellow. 

“You’re _not_ my favorite person,” Lan Fan mumbled. She looked like she was trying her hardest to sink into the floor.

Mei crossed her arms. “Ling, answer the question. Why are you here?” she asked sternly.

“You know him?” Alphonse whispered.

“My idiotic older brother—half-brother, actually,” Mei whispered back.

“Small world.”

“Honestly? He’s just clingy.”

Ling smiled impossibly wide. “Because fencing is boring, the instructor is objectively racist, and my two favorite people are _right here_.” He plopped down next to Lan Fan and threw an arm around her shoulders. The poor girl’s face turned roughly the color of a ripe tomato. Ed stifled a snicker. He should probably stop laughing at other people's discomfort, but it was just so damn _funny._

The classroom door opened, and Paninya stumbled out, clutching her forearm. Her dark hair had all but escaped from its tight ponytail, and she looked considerably worse for wear. She wasn’t smiling and skipping now, that was for sure. “She told me to send in Riza Hawkeye,” she panted, all but collapsing onto the nearest empty bench. 

Riza stood, adjusting her tight bun. “Wish me luck,” she murmured, slipping inside the classroom once again. Ed had to admire her bravery—Izumi was obviously a tough fighter with zero qualms about tossing her students around like rag dolls, judging by Paninya’s rapidly darkening bruises. And yet this girl had strode inside without any hesitation.

There were a few moments of quiet. Ed checked his phone. Paninya panted for breath, still rubbing her forearm. Ling talked quietly with Lan Fan as the girl turned steadily pinker, clearly uncomfortable with the position of his arm. Roy leaned the back of his head against the wall, glancing at the door where Riza had disappeared every few seconds. 

Well, then.

Why did this feel like an execution lineup?

* * *

“Did you _really_ take martial arts classes before now?” Izumi looked down at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Ed spat, rolling to his feet. His arms _hurt_ —how many bruises was he going to have after this? And he’d fallen too many times to count. If he spent too much time here, he’d break either his tailbone or hip, or maybe even both. At the same time. He wouldn’t put it past Izumi. “When I was thirteen and fourteen. For six months.”

“Mmm,” she said, blocking his kick lazily. There was the sensation of being spun around, and suddenly he was on the mat again, this time facing downwards. Maybe he’d get a broken nose out of this, too. What a joy. “And it seems you’ve forgotten most of it. Karate, correct?”

“Yup,” he replied, rising into a crouch. Izumi was just standing there, arms crossed with her feet firmly planted on the navy plastic of the mat. She wasn’t even breaking a sweat. 

“Figured as much. Anyway, your attacks are all over the place, and you have no defense to speak of,” she said, neatly dodging his swing and flipping him over again. Ed crashed to the mat, the wind knocked out of him. “I believe you’d do best with taekwondo—it has an emphasis on speed and agility, as well as involving several kinds of spinning kick. Did your brother take those classes as well?”

“A few,” Ed managed, trying to catch his breath as he struggled to his feet for what felt like the twenty-sixth time. “He didn’t like it much, though.” _Because he was still recovering from the coma and was trying to get his strength up, and hated falling above all else._

“Mmm,” she said again. “At any rate, your attacks are basic kick-and-whack, and your defense is nonexistent, but if I needed to have one good thing to say about your performance—which I don’t—I’d say you’re quick to get back on your feet. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing, since it means you’re used to falling.”

Ed blinked, surprised. Well, of course his attacks weren't the best, and he'd never learned defense--or he'd completely forgotten it. But at least he wasn't a complete failure at martial arts. Before he could even properly digest Izumi's feedback, she rushed forwards, taking advantage of his momentary pause. He didn't have time to put up a block, even though it wouldn't have done him much good anyways.

And once again, he was on the mat. 

So that made twenty-seven.


	3. cause sanity is suicide (scars and sleeplessness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love these two, but they really need to figure out they don’t have to shoulder everything alone.
> 
> Short chapter today. Probably all of these will be relatively short because I don't have the stamina nor the writing skill to write anything longer. Maybe they'll get longer as I go along, I dunno.

Riza knew Roy was walking towards her before she even saw him. No, that wasn’t true, she did see movement out of the corner of her eye, but she refused to look away from the plastic-covered block of foam she was throttling. Her bare feet and sweaty hands made extremely satisfying _smacks_ every time they hit the target, keeping her focused. _Smack_ . Look forward. _Smack_ . Keep kicking. _Smack_.

“You need a sparring partner?” he asked, as nonchalant as if he was asking her coffee order instead. Only she could detect the faintest inflections in his tone, the faintest shift of his stance even though she was turned away from him. Only she knew the words he wasn’t saying. _You okay? Do you need to talk about anything?_

“I’m fine. I’m going to leave in a few minutes, anyway.” _No. Don’t press it._

She could sense his lifted eyebrow. It was already almost seven PM, over an hour after class had ended. Outside the line of square windows at the front of the classroom, the sky was a dusky dark violet. The boxy industrial lights and the orangey-yellow streetlights in the parking lot cast wavering reflections on the glass. Just outside the open door, Lan Fan was sitting on one of the hall benches, reading what looked like an English textbook with heavy-lidded black eyes behind circular-framed glasses.

“You can ask for help, you know.” _You have too much shit to go through on your own. Let me help you._

“I’m all right.” _The last time I asked for help of my own free will was approximately four and a half years ago._

A small scoff. “The building’s gonna close for real pretty soon. Almost everyone else is gone by now.” _Everyone’s out of the changing room. You can use it now._ Of course. Because only he knew why she refused to change in front of other people. Only he knew why she tried to wear high-collared shirts whenever possible, covering up the ink and scars her father had left behind. Riza wondered absently just how many _onlys_ there were between them. 

She gave the target one last kick ( _smack_ ) before spinning on her heel to face him. To her credit, she barely stumbled at all in the sudden whirling motion. To his credit, he only took a quarter of a step back before regaining his previous position. 

Izumi didn’t make them wear uniforms, unlike the previous self-defense instructors Riza had been taught under. She would give a short lecture on the importance of the individual at least once a week before slamming each of them to the mat in turn. It was a refreshing change from the cookie-cutter uniformity of the military academy she spent much of her time in.

Like most of the other students, Roy hadn’t brought a change of clothes, so he was still wearing the gray Central Military Academy t-shirt that he had arrived in. Izumi didn’t exactly hide her obvious disgust with the military, and had regarded the shirt as if it were something repulsive when he had walked into the classroom, although she hadn’t treated him any differently. 

“Thanks,” Riza said, looking up at him almost-gratefully. He had gotten taller since last year, but Riza could still look down on him disapprovingly if the situation called for it. It was one of her talents. 

They had worked out a system--while Riza was changing, Roy would stand outside the door and occupy anyone who wanted to go in until she came out. Considering the fact that Riza usually waited at least half an hour after class had ended to go change, he hadn’t had to employ this tactic yet, but it never hurt to be careful. 

Changing rooms were an old foe of hers. The locker room at her middle school, the showers at the military academy, those countless gray-tiled, beige-walled, windowless boxes--she knew them all. She had employed a few tricks over the years--changing in an empty bathroom stall, simply hugging her arms to her chest and waiting it out, and now having Roy stand guard. No one had questioned her about it yet, most likely assuming it was out of a prudish sense of modesty rather than a quest to keep her past under lock and key. 

At least this changing room was clean. The one at her middle school had a serious roach problem--cockroaches the size of her hand scuttled freely, sending the crowds of adolescent girls into shrieking fits. She vaguely remembered multiple instances of being perched on the boxy archery targets stacked in the corner of the room, resisting the urge to clap her hands over her ears at the shrill screams of her peers. At least the girls at the dojo were level-headed--even Mei, the youngest out of all of them (who could emit quite the scream if she put her mind to it), chose to simply stomp on roaches if they dared sully her presence. 

She had left her canvas duffel bag shoved neatly into the corner of the room before class started. It carried a tiny toiletry bag, two changes of clothes, a first-aid kit (containing mostly a giant bottle of Ibuprofen for cramps and a tiny bottle of cherry flavored 5 hour energy), her laptop (for homework), her phone (for Flappy Bird more than anything else), a penlight (in case her phone died but she needed a source of light), a pair of much-beloved Bluetooth headphones (they were black with little cat ears--she had been twelve, all right?), and a set of earbuds (if the headphones died or were deemed too juvenile for her present company.)

As clean as the room was, Riza didn’t trust the showers, so she changed as quickly as she could, folding her sweat-stained t-shirt into a neat square before pulling on a plain gray turtleneck. At least the autumn temperatures were cool enough for this necessary article of clothing to not feel like a Tide-scented level of hell. She hated the summer for more reasons than one.

“Hiya, kids!” 

A chipper voice greeted her as she walked out of the changing room, rubbing her sore arms. Maes had thrown open the door of the dojo, glasses seeming to glow in the fluorescent lighting, a wide grin lighting up his face. Lan Fan glanced toward him, then back to her textbook, having resigned herself to her fate.

“Don’t call me ‘kid’,” grumbled Roy, crossing his arms. “You’re only a year older than me.” That sentence was grammatically incorrect, but Riza had learned early on that most people didn't enjoy having their grammar corrected in the middle of conversations, so she'd learned to stifle the instinct to speak out, but her thoughts still circled around the me/I am conundrum for a few more seconds before moving on to the task at hand.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” chirped Maes, his smile never wavering. “You both need a ride, right? Since you got your _license revoked?_ ” He dangled the keys to his battered Honda in front of Roy’s face. Roy wrinkled his nose slightly and leaned back--that issue was still a bit of a sore subject for him. 

“Yes, _we both need a ride_. _Thank you_ , Maes,” Riza interjected pointedly, shooting one of her glares at each of them in turn. They weren’t her most scathing, but they would do. If no one interrupted those two before they went at each other, she would be standing in this parking lot all night. “You’re just _too kind_.”

Maes ignored her look. “Alrighty, _kids_ , come on! I’ve got a date with Gracia later, and I can’t have you two holding me up!” He spun on his heel and marched out the door, swinging the keys around his index finger, with Roy right behind him. Riza followed more slowly, hefting her duffel onto her shoulder. She'd have permanent marks on her shoulder from its where its strap had dug into her by the end of the semester, she was sure.

“You need a ride, Lan Fan?” she asked as she passed the other girl’s hunched figure, all but melting into a formless black blob underneath her trademark incredibly oversized black hoodie. Lan Fan looked up questioningly, taking out an earbud that had been previously hidden under her hood. Riza repeated the question.

“No, no,” Lan Fan answered distractedly, shaking her head. “Ling said he’d drive me as soon as his class ended. Which was...” She pulled out her phone, showcasing a photo of a lotus blossom as her home screen, “...half an hour ago.” She made a face, turning off her phone and shoving it back into her hoodie pocket. They both knew Bradley was prone to keeping his students way past the time the class ended. Armstrong was even more strict than he was, but at least she let her students leave on time. “He’ll be here soon,” she said, more to reassure herself than Riza. 

Riza wondered, not for the first time, just how much history those two had. 

“Okay. Good night.” Riza pushed open the front door with some difficulty. It had a tendency to stick.

“’Night,” murmured Lan Fan, already engrossed in her textbook again. 

The smell of wet asphalt hit her like a slap to the face. It had rained earlier, and the smell of damp city wasn’t exactly aromatic. Except...she caught a whiff of cinnamon rolls from the bakery across the street, but it was gone before she could really confirm it. After all, who would still be making cinnamon rolls at this time of night? Whatever the case, she didn’t have time for possibly imaginary baked goods. Her thrift-store sneakers thumped on the pavement as she jogged toward Maes’ car, the soles of her feet stinging slightly. Her thighs felt like they were made of wet concrete--she needed to sit down as soon as possible. Possibly face-plant, if it was somewhere soft.

“Riza! So, I was wondering…” began Maes as he unlocked the car. She tuned him out, as she often did. Hughes was pleasant for pleasantness' sake, and his never-ending chatter was usually endearing, but when she was as tired and hungry as she was now, it was merely annoying. She didn’t even try to smile and nod as she usually did, simply heaving herself into the backseat and all but collapsing onto the scratched beige upholstery as Roy claimed shotgun for himself.

“So, I have no _idea_ what to get for her, and Riza could you please help me?” Riza snapped to the present at the sound of her name. Well, “her” could only mean one person, so it sounded like Maes wanted to get a gift for Gracia but didn’t know what. Why the hell was he asking _her_? She barely knew the girl!

“Listen,” she mumbled, carefully rolling over on the bench seat so her face wasn’t pressed into the cushions. “I don’t know. There is no one widely accepted ‘gift for a female.’ Ask her yourself.” She yawned. “But if you want my personal opinion, food is always a good idea.” Especially cinnamon rolls or anything containing chocolate. Some might call it fattening or unhealthy; Riza called it necessary energy. And any energy she could find was _absolutely_ necessary--consequently, she sometimes found herself eating mini Oreos at midnight.

“Okay, sorry.” Maes focused his attention on directing the car around potholes. Really, it felt more like he was purposefully trying to hit _every single one,_ but in his defense, the car was an old clunker from something like 2001 and cornered like an aircraft carrier. But it was a car, and that was something she _still_ didn’t have. The lucky bastard.

Riza tried to stay awake as the car jounced from one pothole to the next. Today’s class had been tiring, and she knew she _should_ sleep. But she had homework. _So much homework_. And she knew that if she fell asleep here, neither Maes nor Roy would wake her up, either from fear of her wrath or concern for her well-being. Of course she knew that existing solely on ramen cups, guilt, and four hours of sleep was unhealthy. But it was necessary. 

Riza stared at the stained fabric ceiling of Maes’ Honda, feeling the thrum of the engine beneath her as she lay sprawled in the backseat. How the ceiling of a car could become stained, she did not know. Nor did she particularly want to. To ward off the siren call of unconsciousness, she focused on the smell of coffee and pine needles that seemed to emanate from every surface around her--Maes went to Starbucks every day if he could, and hadn’t changed out his air fresheners for months, instead choosing to simply add more until a veritable forest of little pine trees dangled from the front mirror. A thermos rolled around the floorboards, probably from sometime last week. Maes and Roy talked quietly in the front seats, but Riza was too tired to even try to make out the words.

“Riza. We’re here.” Roy opened her door for her as she sat up, trying to get her bearings. That idiot. Always trying to be the gentleman. Now and forever, probably, and it would kill her one day. She gave up on trying to stand and instead half-slid out of the car, wincing as her left ankle jarred against the pavement. Had she hurt it earlier? She couldn’t remember. 

“Thanks, Maes,” she muttered, managing to force herself to her feet and beginning trudging towards the door of her apartment building. Psychology homework waited for her inside--she couldn’t just ignore that, however much she wanted to. She just hoped Rebecca was already there, as she didn’t have the time or energy to track down her oft-wayward roommate and make sure she got back safely.

“Happy to help!” he called after her.

Because he always was.

\--

Riza was well into burying herself in homework when her phone buzzed, making her look up. Rebecca mumbled in her sleep and rolled over on their threadbare futon, upon which she had been unconscious since nine PM. 

Riza knuckled her eyes like a sleepy toddler to clear the tightness behind her retinas, trying to remember what had startled her. Right--her phone. She managed to unplug it from where it was charging, almost dropping it with fingers numbed from typing for too long in what felt like subzero temperatures--they really needed to do something about the heater. Riza blinked at the screen, waiting for the letters to make sense. It was Roy. She sighed. What could he want at this time of night?

[12:34] _are you still awake_

[12:34] No, I’m asleep.

[12:34] _and yet you still manage to have proper punctuation and grammar_

[12:34] _i’ll never know how you do it_

[12:35] What do you want

[12:35] _for you to go to sleep_

[12:35] Not gonna happen.

[12:35] _you have been getting like 4 hours of sleep every other night since Monday._

[12:36] _not healthy_

[12:36] I have homework.

[12:36] _you can do that later_

[12:36] Or I could do it now.

[12:37] _go to sleep_

[12:37] Seriously, why do you care this much?

[12:37: _perhaps I care about you._

[12:38] You mock me for having correct punctuation and then use the word ‘perhaps.’

[12:38] _I was not mocking you!_

[12:38] _pls just go to sleep_

[12:38] _i can’t rest until i know you are too_

[12:38] Make me.

[12:39] _since when were you this grouchy?_

[12:41] Forgive me. You see, it’s past midnight and I’ve been living off those cherry flavor five hour energy things

[12:41] I apologize if my etiquette is subpar.

[12:41] _GO TO SLEEP_

[12:41] MAKE ME

[12:42] _maybe i will_

[12:42] Great idea. Rebecca would just love it if a guy showed up in the middle of the night

[12:43] That wasn’t sarcasm. She’s been trying to get me a “gentleman caller” for about six months now.

[12:44] _just promise me you’ll go to sleep within the next half hour?_

[12:44] Fine. Good night.

[12:45] _good night_

Riza dug the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and rubbed hard. This didn’t do much besides making the tautness in her tear ducts intensify. She groaned softly and turned her attention back to the papers strewn in front of her. She _would_ go to sleep in the next half hour. Just after she finished this one essay. She only had the conclusion paragraphs left--that wouldn’t take too long. Right? Right. She positioned her fingers on the keyboard of her laptop and stared down the screen. Maybe she could scare this thing into writing itself. No? Okay. Be that way, essay.

Fifteen minutes later, she was out cold, cheek pressed to the cool wood of her desk. She had barely managed to turn off her laptop and plug it in before the last of her artificial energy had worn off, leaving her without the willpower to even stumble across the room to her bed. Every flight ended in a crash, every repercussion she thought she outran caught up to her at once and she would slump down, exhausted.

Her distorted, discolored dreams were haunted by convoluted images of an apple with Mei’s double buns trying to roundhouse kick an ear of corn with Edward’s braid. Some said dreams had significance; Rebecca herself read every horoscope she could get her hands on. Riza didn't know what kind of significance an image of her classmates as fresh produce held, and she kind of didn't want to learn.

She knew she shouldn’t be like this. She knew she shouldn’t bury herself in work and keep herself awake through artificial, fruit-flavored energy. But _shouldn’t_ wasn’t the same as _couldn’t_ or _wouldn’t_ —she had learned that a long time ago, in an old house that still existed, with innocence that did not. Almost completely hidden underneath a teetering pile of papers, expectations from both others and herself, antianxiety medication, and responsibilities she didn't even know she had--maybe if she hid well enough, the consequences wouldn't find her. Maybe if she could forget herself, she could forget her past.

Maybe she could even move on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request for feedback has been given by me.


	4. and crazy are the legends (lemon ginger)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole a premise from the 2002 movie Bend it Like Beckham. Well, kind of. A little. Slightly. Not really? This was actually the first idea I had when starting this fic, it just took until the fourth chapter to actually work it in.

Lan Fan wasn’t having the best afternoon.

First of all, she had woken up with a stuffy nose and a bad cough, but it had been that exact level of not urgent enough to stay home but also bad enough to make her feel like absolute shit. So she had put on her big-girl pants, filled a thermos with hot lemon-ginger tea (Grandfather’s cure-all for most ailments), sucked it up, and gone to class. 

By ten in the morning, she had decided sucking it up was complete bullshit.

By lunchtime, she had finished all of her tea except for the cold dregs.

By one PM, she had sunk low enough to even drink _that_ (and had immediately regretted it). She had also acquired a raging headache.

By two, she was absolutely dreading martial arts class. And the headache hadn’t gone away.

Usually, entering the low-slung, white stucco building was the highlight of her day. She could talk to Riza and Paninya, and (often unwillingly) listen to whatever K-pop song Mei was currently playing on repeat. She might even be able to check up on Ling in his fencing class before turning off her phone and throwing herself into the world of bruised forearms and padded mats. Usually, it was a necessary and beautiful release. But right now, when she felt like she had been run over by a banana truck and then a horde of rampaging monkeys chasing said truck, all she wanted to do was sleep. For twelve hours straight, if possible.

But in Izumi’s class, all that mattered was martial arts. It was printed on the sheet of 8 ½ by 11 inch copy paper tacked to the bulletin board by the front door-- _Rule Number One: All that matters here is your skill in martial arts and ability to learn the same. Keep your drama at school and at home._ She wasn’t protesting the rule--it was actually quite practical. But it was rather difficult to muster up the energy for taekwondo when she could barely stand up without getting lightheaded. 

Riza noticed, of course. She always did. “You look sick,” she had muttered, sitting down next to Lan Fan on the wooden bench just outside the classroom. Lan Fan had been hugging her backpack to her chest, trying to remember which pages her chemistry teacher had assigned. It had been 202 and 203, right? Or 302? 

“Just a cold,” Lan Fan had said, rubbing her eyes behind her glasses. How long had she had that headache--was it two hours now? Three? “I’m fine.”

Riza pursed her lips. “I have Ibuprofen in my bag, if you want any.”

Lan Fan blinked. “Oh, no, don’t trouble yourself. Seriously, I’m fine.” Her protests sounded weak, even to her own ears.

Riza hummed, disbelieving. There was a small flurry of motion as she dug in her ever-present giant canvas duffel before pressing two little green pills into Lan Fan’s flesh palm. “Do you need water or something?”

Lan Fan didn’t try to protest. “Nah. Thanks, Riza.” She dry-swallowed them both, feeling the little bulges squeeze somewhat uncomfortably down her esophagus. Riza nodded, shoving the white bottle back into her bag and zipping in closed.

Then class had started, and a whole new circle of hell began.

—

“Lan Fan,” she heard Izumi say from somewhere above her. Wait—was it above or below? She had one side of her face stuck to the floor mat. Ah—that explained why all she could smell was feet. She slowly shoved herself into a sitting position, feeling a slight sting as she slowly peeled her cheek away from the plastic. Her metal arm creaked as she shifted her weight, and she winced, hoping no one had heard.

Lan Fan looked up, dark bangs falling in her face. Izumi was looking down at her, arms crossed. She wasn’t _scowling,_ exactly, but she was definitely disapproving. And a little disappointed. And Lan Fan hated disappointing people. 

“M’sorry,” she mumbled, shakily getting to her feet. The headache was a bit less present now, thanks to the pain pills Riza had given her, but her cranium and stomach both still felt full of phlegm. And her nose had been blocked since she had woken up. God, she was just a big pile of phlegm in a human form at this point. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, a little louder and clearer. 

Izumi pursed her lips. “Edward, spar with Mei. Work on your forearm blocks. Lan Fan, come with me.” She spun on her heel and walked out of the classroom, Lan Fan on her heels. She was certain her ears were burning from embarrassment, if her whole face wasn’t the color of a tomato already. She could feel Riza’s sympathetic gaze and Alphonse’s curious one on her back as she passed them on her way to the narrow hallway. Edward and Mei didn’t even seem to notice--she heard mutterings of “Bring it, beansprout girl” and “You’ll be eating your words, grain-of-rice boy” behind her just before the classroom door swung shut.

Lan Fan had prepared a half-thought out explanation as soon as she had entered the dojo, but as soon as she saw Izumi’s face, the words _I’m sorry, I promise I’ll do better next time_ died on her lips. Her teacher didn’t look angry or even disappointed—it was some kind of emotion Lan Fan couldn’t place, but was definitely too close to “motherly” to look natural on Izumi’s usually strict features. 

“You’re sick, aren’t you?” Her tone was blunt and matter-of-fact: it was a declaration, not a question.

Lan Fan started to look down, letting her bangs hide her face, before remembering adults usually hated that. “Yes, ma’am,” she said quietly. No use denying it.

Izumi pressed her lips together into a hard, thin line. Then, to Lan Fan’s utter shock, she pointed at the narrow wooden bench. “Sit down. I can’t have you in my class if you’re not doing your very best.” Noticing the look on Lan Fan’s face, she crossed her arms. “What’s that look for? Did you think I was going to make you keep going even though you’re dead on your feet?”

“Uh-” Lan Fan stuttered. How was she _supposed_ to answer that?

Izumi waved a hand, dismissing her own question. “Bottom line, you’re out of class for the rest of the day. Do what you want, just don’t cause a disturbance. Don’t come sick again—next time, I won’t be so lenient.” She frowned, but that strange motherly look was still there. 

“A-all right,” Lan Fan managed, slowly sitting down. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. Call someone to come pick you up if you need to.” She gave Lan Fan one last look before disappearing back into the classroom. Just before the door swung shut again, Lan Fan heard her yell, “Oi! You two! This is not a wrestling match!”

Slightly stunned, Lan Fan simply sat and stared at the pale grey paint on the opposite wall for a few seconds. Right—she should call someone. Ling was the obvious choice, but he was still in class. Grandfather was probably still at work. She got her phone out anyway, and didn’t bother stifling a sigh when she saw her notifications. Over thirty unread messages from one Ling Yao, several of them sent in the past fifteen minutes. There wasn’t much to be gained by reading them, but she didn’t exactly have anything else to do.

[11:24] _u look like shit_

[11:24] _that came out wrong_

[11:24] _but seriously are u sick_

[11:25] _UGGGGHHH OF COURSE YOUR PHONE IS OFF WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME LAN FAN_

[11:25] _goodbye forever_

[11:26] _seriously goodbye._

[11:27] _i am leaving u my friend_

[11:27] _u will never be able to pull my body back from the abyss_

[11:28] _leave twinkies on my funeral pyre pls_

[11:28] _im gonna be humgry in the afterlife_

[12:33] _do u want a crosiant_

[12:33] _croissaint_

[12:33] _im at starbucks do u want a pastry_

[2:02] _class ended for me do u wanna skip martial arts and come to starbucks with me_

[2:02] _ill buy you a peppermint mocha_

[2:03] _or one of those pink things mei likes so much_

[2:04] _i’d say i would buy you anything but i have limited funds_

[2:04] _for now_

[2:04] _( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

[2:06] _is ur phone off again_

[2:07] _GODDAMMIT LAN FAN_

[5:57] _i didn’t text u for over 3 hours are u proud of me_

[5:57] _such self-restraint i have_

[5:57] _such self-restraint deserves a reward don’t you think_

[5:58] _for example_

[5:58] _you could text me back for once_

[5:59] _having the pleasure of your correspondence would be reward enough_

[6:00] _never mind_

[6:00] _you have obviously forsaken me_

[6:00] _left me to the wolves_

[6:01] _i am a ship without an anchor_

[6:01] _set adrift at seaaaaaa_

[6:01] _where are youuuuu_

[6:02] _laaaaaan faaaaaaan_

[6:03] _see if i ever text you again >:( _

Lan Fan sighed again. Every single time she left her phone off for more than an hour, something like this happened. She had had it off the whole day, choosing not to risk it going off in class, and it seemed she had made the right call—if she had left it on, it would have been _ding_ ing all through her Xingese Culture, Literature, and Theoretical Physics classes, as well as her lunch hour. And Ling had fencing class starting at four-thirty—was he texting in class or just sitting in some random coffee shop, bothering her to alleviate his own boredom? 

She tapped out a hasty reply, which was answered almost immediately.

[6:19] Are you in fencing class or not??

[6:19] _YAAAAAAAAY YOU FINALLY RESPONDED!!! :D :D :D_

[6:20] _and nope_

[6:20] _skipped it in favor of this lovely cappuccino_

[6:21] Ling it’s past 6pm

[6:21] _your point?_

[6:22] You’re going to be up half the night AND you’re supposed to be in fencing class rn

[6:23] _u worry too much. I had bradley today and he’s racist so i just skipped out_

[6:23] _at least armstrong’s classes are bearable_

[6:23] I worry a perfectly adequate amount, you simply require more worrying than the average person.

[6:23] _hmf_

[6:23] And you can’t just skip out on fencing.

[6:24] _who says_

[6:24] Me. those classes are important

[6:24] _you sound like Fu_

[6:25] _perhaps you’re related?_

[6:25] Cut it with the sarcasm.

[6:25] _you know you love me for it <3 _

[6:26] I really don’t.

[6:26] _so you love me for other reasons?_

[6:26] _hmm. my alluring charm and sharp wit are suspect_

[6:27] _as well as my dashing good looks that make all the ladies ~swoon~_

[6:27] I don’t love you.

[6:27] Asshole.

[6:27] _that’s what they all say_

[6:28] _give it time_

[6:28] _you will eventually succumb to the charms of Ling Yao_

[6:28] _they all do, in the end_

[6:29] I will hurt you.

[6:29] _looking forward to it ;)_

[6:30] You’re hopeless.

[6:30] _you love that about me, too_

[6:31] Ling.

[6:31] _i’ll shut up now_

[6:32] That’s the best idea you’ve had in a long time.

[6:32] _ouch_

[6:33] _anyway do u want to get a coffee? u look like u could use some cheering up_

[6:33] _i’m already at starbucks_

[6:33] _Rose is the barista today and she’s super nice. she’ll probably give u a discount_

[6:33] _cmon pleeeease????_

[6:34] Ok. Give me 15 mins

[6:34] _yaaay!!!!_

[6:37] im rly sry cant get coffee emergncy situation here

[6:37] _wait what happened_

[6:38] _lan fan u ok_

[6:38] _what kind of emergency_

[6:39] _is mei ok_

[6:39] _she remembered the family dinner thing right_

[6:40] _shit i forgot to remind her about that_

[6:41] _SHIT_

[6:41] _SHIT SHIT SHIT I HAVE TO GO TOO_

[6:41] _GODDAMMIT UNIVERSE_

Mei had not, in fact, remembered the family dinner.

Lan Fan heard high-pitched yelling from inside the classroom--Mei’s signature scream. It sounded like Ed had trampled on the last strands of her already nearly nonexistent patience, or perhaps someone had posted an unflattering picture of her on social media. Curiosity getting the better of her, Lan Fan heaved open the classroom door and poked her head inside.

And blinked. Her phone buzzed in her hand, unheeded.

This was _not_ the scene she had expected to see.

Mei was standing just outside the door to the changing room, backpack slung over her shoulder by one strap, wearing a beautiful pink and white ruqun with the waist sash loosely knotted and the skirts flowing around her. Her dark hair, which was now free of its usual double buns, hung to almost her waist in frizzy strands that were used to being kept tight. She might have looked like some kind of short, vengeful flower goddess had her round face not been bright red and her mouth not been emitting a string of increasingly violent expletives in alternating Xingese and English.

“Lan Fan!” she shrieked, turning her frantic gaze on the hapless girl in the doorway. “You gotta help me!”

Lan Fan advanced cautiously, as one might approach a snarling mountain cat. “With what?” she asked slowly. When faced with an obviously panicking and irrational person, it was always best to stay as calm as possible.

Mei gestured at herself. “Family function. Seven o’clock. I forgot. Need someone to do my hair. And drive me.”

Lan Fan looked around. The remaining students looked either very confused or utterly terrified. Paninya was the first to act, throwing up her hands in a defensive gesture. “Don’t look at me. I can’t do hair to save my life.” 

Edward was backing slowly towards the doorway, dragging his brother by the forearm. Riza was in the corner, somehow managing to keep a cool head while packing her things into her duffel bag as if nothing was wrong. Roy was staring at Mei with a mixture of shock and fear--the understandable response to her oft-violent spontaneity.

“I can do your hair,” said Lan Fan, surprising herself with how level her voice sounded. She knew a few traditional Xingese hairstyles. Vaguely. And if that wasn’t enough, there was always Google. And, if worse came to worst, Pinterest.

“Okay. Can anyone drive me?” Mei looked around desperately. Lan Fan took the time to hastily tap out a text to Ling saying an emergency had come up before turning off her phone for good--she only had 15% battery left, anyways. Edward and Alphonse had already made their exit--Lan Fan could hear muffled cursing from the hallway while Edward tried to track down his belongings. “RIZA! You can drive, right?”

Riza looked up, slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder. “Yeah, but I don’t have a car. I’m really sorry.” She looked genuinely apologetic.

Mei frantically turned to Paninya, who was slowly edging towards the door as well. “Paninya?” 

“No license, no car,” she said, shrugging. “I just have Ed or Winry drive me. Sorry.”

Alphonse stuck his head around the doorway. “Ed can drive you!”

“No, Ed cannot!” Ed said, his reply a bit muffled. “Beansprout girl can manage on her own.”

“Yes, he _can_ ,” cut in Alphonse, in a more dangerous voice than Lan Fan had ever heard from the normally sweet-tempered brother.

Mei gave a huge sigh of relief. “Toodles,” she called behind her as she ran to the door, maintaining a firm grip on Lan Fan’s arm with pastel pink nails that felt more like claws. Lan Fan barely had time to grab her backpack and think _what did I just get myself into_ before Mei yanked her out the door.

Less than a minute later, she, Mei, Ed, and Alphonse were all packed into Ed’s battered white Toyota. Apparently, it was actually Winry’s, which explained the smell of automail oil and the loose bolts rolling around the floorboards. Ed had quickly explained that Winry was working from home that day, and had allowed Ed to take her truck. It was as if he was desperate to prove that he hadn’t stolen it. Mei hadn’t really been listening; Al had just looked vaguely amused.

“Left on Magnolia, then right on Swatcher. Drive as smooth as you can,” Mei ordered, forgoing a seatbelt to work on her ruqun’s sash. That wasn’t any semblance of safe, but Lan Fan didn’t really have the time or energy to reprimand her. In some back corner of her mind, she realized that her headache was fading. Maybe the stress and adrenaline from her current actions was canceling it out.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Ed muttered, but Lan Fan noticed he did go a bit slower than the speed limit and seemed to take pains to avoid the numerous potholes. Interesting.

“What hairstyle do you need?” Lan Fan asked, her phone already out. She had a multitude of texts from Ling, and almost laughed when she saw the last one. “Oh, and Ling says he has to go to the dinner too.”

“Um, just the two maiden buns’ll work,” Mei said, fumbling with the silk knot. “Fucking _shǎ bī_ ,” she muttered under her breath, pawing at it.

After a moment of confusion, Lan Fan decided the curse was directed at the offending piece of silk and not herself. A hasty bit of Googling later, she found a photo of the style Mei wanted and began twisting up strands of her hair. She was a decent hairstylist if she did say so herself--maybe Mei would be so blinded by the beauty of the finished product that she wouldn’t realize Lan Fan had no idea how to _undo_ the damn thing. 

“What’s the address?” Ed asked. “Because I kinda need it now.”

“Gimme your phone,” Mei said, releasing her sash long enough to make grabby hands at him. “I’ll put it in Google Maps.”

“All right, but that had better be all you do,” Ed warned, fumbling for his phone in the cupholder while trying not to take his eyes off the road. Al finally took pity on him and handed it to Mei himself.

“You know I’m too much of a virtuous soul to do anything else,” Mei muttered absentmindedly, already tapping away on the heavily cracked screen. Lan Fan privately wondered whether Ed had put his phone through a blender at one point. Knowing him, it was quite a distinct possibility. After a few seconds, Mei tossed it back—Al managed to catch it before it hit the floor of the car and acquired another crack in the screen. “There.”

There were a few minutes of tense silence as Lan Fan frantically twisted and retwisted Mei’s dark tresses and Mei fiddled with her sash. Both were muttering a constant string of curses under their breath in alternating languages. Alphonse sat awkwardly in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio with the volume on mute.

“Shit!” Mei cried suddenly, nearly jerking her head out of Lan Fan’s hands. “Shit, shit, SHIT!”

Alphonse whipped around, green-gold eyes worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I need a date!” Mei cried. “My aunts are going to be _so mad_ if I don’t show up without one, you don’t even _know_. Xingese aunts are _ruthless_!”

Lan Fan nodded. She didn’t even have any to speak of, but she still knew of the wrath of a Xingese aunt.

“Alphonse,” she said, staring at him determinedly. 

Al gulped audibly.

“You’re my date, ’kay?”

He hesitated. Ed let out what sounded like a stifled guffaw from the driver’s seat. “Um, all right?” Al said cautiously. “But, like, what does that entail? What are my, um...duties? As your date.”

“Mostly just nod and smile whenever my relatives ask you questions and eat as much food as you can without getting sick,” Mei said matter-of-factly. “They’ll love it ’cause it means you like it. Even if you don’t, there’s a bathroom, so you can throw up all you want afterwards.”

“The eating part sounds more like Brother’s area of expertise,” Alphonse said, grinning.

“I am NOT being bean girl’s date,” Ed growled. “Suck it up and _eat the food_ , Al.”

“Anyway, just do what I tell you and you’ll be fine. You’re dressed well enough already, which is a relief,” Mei continued, glancing at Alphonse’s white collared shirt and dark jeans. Lan Fan had noticed when she had met him that Al always tried to be as well-dressed as he could at all times. Unlike Ed, who had a more goth-with-emo-influences “if my clothes offend you that’s your problem” outlook. And as far as Lan Fan could tell, he never took off his red hoodie.

Lan Fan finally finished tying off the second bun as Ed pulled into the driveway of the address Mei had given him. It turned out to be one of those omnipresent four-story, white brick mansions with giant columns out front that usually housed well-off lawyers or CEOs. A few cars were already parked in the semicircular driveway, and light spilled out of the downstairs windows. And if she wasn’t mistaken, someone who looked a lot like Ling Yao was leaning against one of those columns. The bright yellow jacket was a dead giveaway. 

“When should we pick you up?” called Ed as Mei scrambled out the door.

“Um, nine-thirty-ish? I think?” Mei said, tugging on one of her flats as Alphonse opened his door. As soon as he stepped onto the driveway, she forcibly linked her arm with his and started near-dragging towards the house. Ed didn’t bother concealing his snorts of laughter at his brother’s obvious discomfort. As Ed was backing out into the street, Lan Fan heard a high-pitched voice shriek “LING YAO, YOU BASTARD! WHY DIDN’T YOU REMIND ME?”

For maybe the third time in her life, Lan Fan Zhang felt bad for Ling Yao.

She privately wondered what the world was coming to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD, writing Ling’s texts with Lan Fan was the most fun I’ve had in days. His texting style is actually based on my sister’s. Yes. It’s painful.
> 
> Constructive criticism, and just comments in general, are as always highly appreciated!
> 
> Art by the miraculous Ash, who I am unable to name with anything other than that pseudonym as per her request. She has an art blog on Tumblr now, so please be sure to check it out here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/miralia


	5. i'd rather have fun being young and being dumb (fries and neon lights)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To commemorate FMA day (never forget 3 Oct. 11), we're having a double release day! This may slow down releases in the future, but it's worth it.

“Okay, remind me again: just how the hell do you get Pac-Man on an iPhone?”

Alphonse gave a long-suffering sigh. “You can get it on Apple Arcade, but that costs money, so you can go to really any number of shady online game websites.” He tossed his phone from hand to hand. “The rest is a simple matter of avoiding downloading a virus while uploading it.”

Paninya gave a sigh of her own and slid her back down the stucco wall, squatting on the concrete sidewalk. Then immediately regretted it, because stucco can be sharp and scratchy, and her tank top did not provide enough protection from said sharp, scratchy walls. Really, stucco should be outlawed, she mused. Why have scratchy paint that hurts when you can have perfectly nice, smooth paint? The mysteries of humanity never ceased to befuddle her.

Ed grunted and glared at his cracked phone screen. Class had ended _over an hour ago_ , and Winry still hadn’t arrived. “This is pathetic,” he muttered. “We shouldn’t all have to rely on her.”

“We really shouldn’t,” Paninya conceded. “But unless we can haul our broke asses out of student debt and buy our own modes of transport, we’re gonna have to.” 

“Can’t you get, like, Lan Fan’s boyfriend to drive you?” Ed sighed, running his hands through his bangs. 

Paninya grinned. “Nope. You’re all stuck with me. And Ling’s technically not her boyfriend, but she just has to give it time.”

“Wonderful,” he groaned. “Simply _splendid_.”

“I am,” she agreed.

“Can you two _please_ stop talking?” Al said finally. “Find something better to do with your time than trying to annoy each other and making me suffer through it all.”

“Not all of us remembered our phones,” Paninya said, clicking her fingernails against the concrete. Ugh, they were still chipped and scratched--maybe a pharmacy would have some kind of clear-coat protection lacquer. Nail polish was the eighth sin.

Alphonse turned to her with a look akin to horror. “How do you just…” He paused. “ _Forget your phone?_ ”

Paninya sighed again, tilting her head back to rest it against the stucco. “I went home before class started to try to grab a few things. I guess I put my phone down at one point. And unless I lost it between there and here, it’s still on my desk.”

Al made a sympathetic “chhhh” sound. “That’s tough.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. Now my only source of entertainment is annoying the shit out of Ed.” Something that was _so_ easy and _so_ satisfying.

“It had better not be,” Ed muttered, glancing at her vaguely apprehensively and then back at his phone screen. 

“I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry.”

Suddenly, there was the screech of tires on asphalt. Paninya leapt to her feet just in time to see a battered white Toyota pickup with way too much junk in the truck bed careen into the parking lot. It executed a truly dangerous hairpin turn before coming to a grating halt right in front of them. Al hadn’t even moved, although Ed’s blonde antennae was sticking straight up in surprise.

As they watched, the passenger’s side window rolled down agonizingly slowly. Winry leaned over the seat and stuck her head out. She was looking a bit worse for wear, with a smudge of machine grease on her cheek and her pale bangs sticking every which way. “Beep beep,” she called over the thrum of the engine, shaking her hair out of her eyes. “Get in.”

“Are you driving us home or are we accomplices in a crime?” Ed asked, standing up and brushing off his pants. Al shoved his phone into his pocket and got to his feet a little more slowly. 

“Maybe both, depending on how I’m feeling,” Winry said as Paninya threw open the car door. “Wait--you have to go in the back. Sorry.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Paninya said, closing the door again. A mess of gears, metal rods, and others of what she could only describe as “machine bits and bobs” littered the backseat. There was what might have been a partially-constructed automail foot rolling around the floorboards. “What the hell is all that?”

“New model I’m working on,” Winry responded, turning down the radio so she could be heard.

“For me?” Ed asked, beginning to slide into the passenger’s seat. 

“Nope. Not everything’s about you, you know. And get in the back with everyone else. I get to control my own radio. Your taste in music is even worse than your taste in clothing.” Winry flapped her hand at him dismissively. Al had already hoisted himself into the truck bed, trying to make himself comfortable between a metal toolbox and a canister of what Paninya hoped wasn’t gasoline. 

Paninya settled herself into a corner as Ed heaved himself over the rim, frowning. “I have excellent taste,” he muttered petulantly. 

Al caught Paninya’s eye and shook his head ever so slightly. 

“Anyway, what took you so long?” Ed had to shout over the engine and the music, which had increased in volume. It was some kind of EDM pop song--Paninya couldn’t make out the lyrics, but she didn’t really need to.

“Appointment ran late,” Winry yelled back, barely audible. “Sorry about that.”

“Can we at least get milkshakes to make up for it?” Al called out, bracing himself against the toolbox as the truck turned out of the parking lot. 

“Yeah, milkshakes!” Paninya agreed. “Isn’t there a Sonic somewhere around here?”

“I think there’s a DQ down there!” Al yelled, pointing to the left. 

“Where?” Winry yelled back.

Al caught his mistake. “Down Sarpy! To the left!”

“I’m trusting you! Hold on tight!” The car swerved sharply, throwing Ed against the opposite side of the truck bed. Al managed to only slip a little before regaining balance and pulling himself into a sitting position again. 

Paninya sat as straight as she could, letting the wind pull her manic grin wider and bracing her arms against the metal sides. The street blurred around her, but she didn’t bother to pick out what was going past. Before she could stop herself, she let out a whoop of pure adrenaline and enjoyment, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. 

“It’s like running again!” Al shouted, the wind all but snatching his voice away as he lifted his head against the full force of the gale. “Except faster!”

Paninya caught sight of Ed and laughed aloud. His golden hair had all but escaped its braid, whipping around his face so much that she could barely make out his eyes. “You look like a mountain man!” 

“What I’ve always aspired to be!” he shouted back, grinning. 

“You’d make a lovely Sasquatch, brother!” Al called out, smiling wider.

Ed made a half-hearted grab for him, and they both collapsed to the floor of the truck bed, laughing. Paninya hadn’t quite been able to quell her giggling since the car had started--it had to be something about the wind speed combined with the loud, thumping music combined with the sheer adrenaline and insanity that was being in the bed of a pickup truck, searching for ice cream at nine PM. 

The truck finally slowed and executed a reasonable turn into a Dairy Queen parking lot. Ed was thrown across the truck bed once again, having forgone the reasonable precaution of securing himself. Winry quieted her music to levels acceptable for mainstream society--a shame, in Paninya’s opinion.

“Act like lumps,” she hissed, sticking her head out the driver’s window to look at them as best she could. “I can’t get some sort of child endangerment violation on my hands.”

They all dutifully acted like lumps. Al pulled a tarp over himself and his brother. Paninya covered herself with a flattened cardboard box. Why Winry had a flattened cardboard box in her truck, she didn’t know, but she was grateful anyway.

The truck slowed to a complete stop, and Winry spoke up. “Two medium raspberry fudge blizzards, one medium Snickers blizzard, and one medium Oreo blizzard, please. Oh, and two large fries.” 

“ _Three_ large fries,” Paninya heard Ed whisper before being quickly silenced. 

“Yes, just two large fries,” Winry repeated placidly. Paninya could practically hear Ed’s scowl. A few minutes passed in agonizing almost-silence—the only thing she could hear was the low thrum of the engine beneath her. This DQ really needed to cut down on their customer wait time. Although it was after nine at night, so that could have had something to do with it. 

“Thank you _so_ much,” Winry said finally, presumably to whoever was handing her their ice creams. “Have a nice night!” The car lurched forwards again, turning out of the parking lot at last.

Barely half a second later, Paninya heard the sound of a tarp being thrown aside. “Whew!” Ed said, sitting up. Paninya followed suit, shoving the cardboard behind a metal bin. 

Al left his crouching position more reluctantly. “They probably saw us,” he said worriedly, glancing back at the flourescent lights of the fast-food restaurant.

“Let them,” Ed shrugged, unconcerned. “It’ll just add to the mystique.”

“The mystique of three teenagers popping randomly out of a truck bed?” Paninya said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll have you know I’m almost twenty,” Ed huffed, indignant.

It was Paninya’s turn to shrug. “So am I, but I’m going to hold onto the title of ‘teenager’ for as long as I can. It justifies at least part of the shit I get into.”

“That’s one way to look at life,” Al mused.

“All right, children. Time to eat.” Winry pulled to a screeching halt in the parking lot of a neighboring McDonalds. “The harvest is bountiful,” she said, hopping out of the driver’s seat and distributing the shakes. Ed’s hand was swatted away from the fries. “These are for all of you.”

“Didja get ketchup?” Al asked hopefully, taking a slurp of his shake. He had the raspberry fudge. The heathen. Everyone knew the Oreo blizzard was the best.

Winry scowled at him, heaving herself into the truck bed as well. “I have a few packets. And you’re going to _share_ , EDWARD ELRIC.”

“I am a veritable _paragon_ of generosity,” Ed huffed, taking a long gulp from his straw. He immediately smacked a hand to his forehead. “Ah! Brain freeze.”

“Paragon of intelligence, too, apparently,” Paninya said, taking a fistful of fries. 

“So, what was the appointment you had to stay late for?” Al asked, ripping open a ketchup packet. It squirted all over his thumb. Ripping open ketchup packets is one of the more difficult things in life.

“This guy that needed repairs on his hand,” Winry sighed. “He said the pinky finger was jamming every time he flexed it to its maximum. I tried to explain that we don’t normally don’t bend our pinky fingers backwards on dares, even if those fingers are automail. Actually, _especially_ if those fingers are automail.”

“What an idiot,” Ed scoffed. “ _I’d_ never do that.” He popped another fry.

“Well, so far, you’re my only client that managed to get your elbow stuck in a blender,” Winry said placidly.

Paninya choked on her shake. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yes,” Winry continued gleefully, ignoring the deadly glare from Ed. Her eyes adopted the same starry-eyed excitement they always did whenever she talked about machines. “I was trying to make smoothies for him and Al with a blender I got for Christmas. It’s great—stainless steel blades, amazingly sharp, three different speeds, and-”

“Winry. Ed’s elbow?”

“Right, right,” Winry said, shaking her head as if to clear it. “So, anyway, Ed decided to lean over the blender while it was still going. _And_ rest his arm on it. I hadn’t locked the lid, he lost his balance, and poof. Automail smoothie.”

“It wasn’t a _smoothie,”_ Ed protested. “It just had a few scratches on the metal plating—”

“ _And_ you wrecked the elbow joint, which is arguably the most important joint in the entire arm,” Winry reminded him. 

“It’s not like you couldn’t _replace_ it.”

Winry’s eyes narrowed. Paninya hurriedly grabbed a wrench from beside her and sat on it before her friend could reach for it. “It was still a right pain in the ass,” Winry replied, scowling.

Ed grinned cheekily. “That’s my job, ain’t it? Being a pain in the ass?”

“Seems to be.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous of my cutting wit.”

Paninya laid a calming hand on Winry’s shoulder. These two were perfect for each other—anyone with half a brain could see that. But they were also often at each other’s throats. And both seemed to enjoy the frequent exchange of cutting words and/or wrenches thrown at high velocity. It was an odd semi-relationship (it was going to happen any day now, she had placed her bets along with Alphonse), but they made it work, and that was what mattered. She grinned. “You don’t have a single wit, much less a cutting one—OI!” Ed had kicked her hard in the shin. She didn’t feel it, of course, but it still sent an unpleasant vibration up the automail. “Ed kicked me!” 

“’Cause Paninya is breathing my air!” Ed retorted, trying to kick her again. She scooted nimbly out of reach.

“How does one mark air as one’s own?” Al asked thoughtfully before Ed accidentally fell against him, knocking him to the truck bed. “Brother shoved me!” he called out.

“It was an accident! Serves you right, anyway, you took my fries without asking!” Ed said, rolling off his brother.

“They weren’t _your_ fries to begin with! And Winry took more!”

“You three! Cut it out!” Winry ordered. “I am _not_ playing the part of ‘mom on a road trip!’”

“We’re not even on a road!” Ed protested.

“We’re in a car, it counts!”

“We’re on a truck bed!”

“A truck is a car, idiot!”

Ed narrowed his eyes. “Is it really?”

“ALPHONSE!” they yelled at the same time, turning to face him.

Al had the expression of a mouse cornered by two hungry cats. “Y-yes?”

“Google it. Is a truck considered a car.” Winry glared at Ed. “It is. I’m right.”

Ed glared back with equal ferocity. “No, you’re _not_.”

Paninya privately wondered whether he _actually_ thought a truck wasn’t a car, or if he just wanted to argue. He had a penchant for arguing, whether it was over something as simple as the best ice cream flavor or something as abstract as whether humans were innately good or evil. The only thing that held him back from engaging in a real debate was his tendency to yell his opinions at top volume and insult the opposing party.

Alphonse hurriedly tapped the screen of his ever-present phone. He usually served as the fight-breaker-upper (was that a word? Paninya didn’t really care) for Winry and Ed. “Uh, sorry, Brother. A pickup truck is a car.”

Ed wrinkled his nose. “Why are we having this argument anyway?”

Paninya grinned. “You kinda started it. Idiot,” she added as an afterthought. Ed might be a prodigy, but he was also an idiot. A big one.

“Winry was the one to stake a claim first,” Ed said defensively.

“And it turns out Winry was right, so Winry’s claim was actually a statement of fact,” Winry countered smugly. 

“Now listen here,” Ed grumbled.

Paninya smiled. They were such idiots. All of them. Including her. She’d miss stuff like this; sprawling in the back of a pickup truck eating DQ blizzards, dumb antics just for the thrill of it, bickering just for the sake of arguing. Some might think the most memorable experiences came from visiting far-off lands, climbing the tallest mountains; singing the loudest, running the fastest, jumping the highest. But to her, the best memories came from things like this. There was no real way to describe the feeling--camaraderie, maybe. Perhaps it was future nostalgia--she knew she would look back on these minutes, stolen from the clutches of responsibility and growing up, as some of the best of her life.

She was a hopeless romantic. Was that the right word? Did she care? But she would miss them. She’d miss all of this, because it would end. Everything did, eventually.

Paninya sighed, watching Winry and Ed yell and Alphonse try to keep the peace between the easily-irritated teenagers. She’d never be able to replicate this—just watching the neon lights reflect off the sides of the truck and her friends’ pale hair, listening to their chatter underscored with the hum of cicadas and the sound of passing cars.

Yep. She would definitely miss them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unpopular opinion: Paninya is introspective and a hopeless romantic as well as a kick-butt fighter and a total goofball.  
> Comments are always appreciated~


	6. maybe i'm crazy but don't try to save me (capitalism candy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not uploading sooner! I had this all typed out and ready to post, but class got in the way. Have an extra-long chapter to compensate.

Mei Chang was absolutely, completely, entirely unironic in every seemingly ironic thing she did. Wearing pink? Unironic, she genuinely liked the color. Having a stuffed panda she carried everywhere? Unironic; that tatty Beanie Boo was her heart and soul. Her taste in TV shows, which usually listed towards shoujo and shounen anime? Entirely unironic, and she wasn’t at all ashamed of her Netflix watchlist. Her love of Korean pop music? 346% unironic, that shit was _fire_.

People had quickly learned that about her after the first time they tried to use the aforementioned preferences as ammunition for belittlement. Mei wasn’t ashamed of anything—she just _didn’t care,_ full stop. Also, she had been practicing martial arts since she was five, so that was also an effective deterrent against bullying. No one really knew where to start with her, which was fine with Mei. 

She was lying on her stomach on her bed, absently tracing the pink paisleys on the quilt while scrolling through Instagram with her music on full volume. Uncle Scar wasn’t home yet, which meant she could indulge in the euphoric freedom that was forgoing headphones and listening to the bright, peppy pop music reverberating off the pale pink walls of her bedroom. 

Mei murmured along to the music, double tapping Lan Fan’s latest post, a photo of a water lily. She didn’t know the actual lyrics to the song, of course, just a few syllables here and there. She spoke Xingese, not Korean, for God’s sake; no matter how many times white people got the two languages confused, they remained very separate.

Her phone pinged, a text from someone named “yellow-clad idiot” dropping down onto the screen. She stared blankly for a second before remembering that oh yeah, she’d renamed Ling’s contact last week so it was now no longer “annoying fraternal figure”. That had been a good one—maybe she should change it back. 

[3:12] _hello dear esteemed favorite sister_

[3:12] _how are you this fine fine afternoon_

[3:13] i’d be better if you changed my contact from ‘the pink one’ to ‘dear esteemed favorite sister’

[3:14] _i’ll bear that in mind_

[3:14] _but to be fair you are garbed in eye-aching pink most of the time_

[3:14] and you’re garbed in eye-aching yellow most of the time

[3:15] _touche dear sister_

[3:15] cut the dear sister bullshit

[3:15] what do you want

[3:16] _would you believe me if i said the pleasure of your company?_

[3:16] no

[3:17] _at least you’re honest_

[3:17] just say what you want from me ling

[3:17] if ur broke again so am i, i spent my last bit of allowance on an anime hoodie

[3:18] _which anime_

[3:18] fruits basket you dumbass

[3:18] i already told you

[3:19] _oh right. guess i blocked the knowledge that my sister has such mainstream taste from my memory_

[3:20] all right mr naruto tshirt

[3:20] don’t think i don’t know your taste too i have access to your amazon acc i see your shopping cart

[3:21] _that is disturbing knowledge that i will keep in mind the next time i shop online_

[3:21] _but anyway. my request_

[3:22] fucken finally it only took you 10 minutes to get to the point

[3:22] _hush sweet sister_

[3:24] …

[3:24] what is it?

[3:26] ling istg if u don’t answer me rn ill log into ur youtube acc and binge watch kpop videos until ur recommended is so full of twice and bts u will want to crawl into a hole and die unloved and uncared for with everyone thinking ur a kpop stan like ur dear beloved sister

[3:26] _well i can’t ignore that threat_

[3:26] _i was talking to lan fan calm down_

[3:27] you value your gf over your dearest sister??? harsh

[3:27] _she’s not my girlfriend_

[3:27] mhm

[3:27] _SERIOUSLY_

[3:27] yeah yeah whatever u say

[3:27] simp

[3:28] just tell me what you wanted to talk to me about already

[3:28] _ok_

[3:29] _so do you think it’s a good idea to invite ppl over_

[3:29] _and just watch anime and eat crappy junk food_

[3:30] _that’s what people with friends do right_

[3:30] i think so

[3:30] but like who would you invite

[3:31] _everyone from your martial arts class of course!_

[3:31] _and maybe liling idk_

[3:32] _she’s ur favorite half sister right_

[3:32] ya but she’s in utah rn, which you would KNOW if you had instagram

[3:33] and why can’t you invite anyone from your fencing class?? y do you have to mooch off my friend group

[3:33] _because i don’t know anyone there_

[3:33] ling you’ve been in those classes for three weeks now

[3:33] _yeah so_

[3:34] you have to know someone there right?

[3:34] _i only show up about half the time plus pretty much everyone there goes to the same private school and theyre all white so im just the token minority in the corner_

[3:35] _crying_

[3:35] i cannot believe you.

[3:36] _good so it’s not just me. i can’t believe myself either_

[3:36] _but moving on. im inviting ur martial arts class and that’s that_

[3:37] cool. they’ve never seen the great yao mansion before

[3:37] _oh you’re just jealous_

[3:38] jealous of what, your family’s disgusting wealth that contributes to inflation and the destruction of the natural world? nope, i actually voluntarily disassociate

[3:39] _well when you put it like that it doesn’t sound cool anymore :/_

[3:39] whatever. just notify everyone the date and time or smth

[3:39] in the group chat

[3:40] _will do_

Mei flipped over on her back and half-slid over the edge of the bed, letting her head dangle upside down as the tightness behind her eyes signaled the blood to begin to rush to her temples. The anime characters on her wall posters stared back at her blankly, their laminated, oversize eyes glassy and staring. Lan Fan had once said that wherever she went in Mei’s room, she was being watched, and sometimes it did feel like that (although nothing would _ever_ part Mei from her precious posters). A get-together would be fun, especially with the Academy people. She did indeed like talking to people and watching TV while snacking on unhealthy things. If her idiot of a half-brother didn’t screw up inviting people or make it too awkward. She still wondered how he’d managed to snag someone as cool as Lan Fan as a friend.

A notification from Ling in the group chat she had started for her class (plus Winry, who was cool, and Ling, who had whined about how he didn’t have any friends until Lan Fan added him out of exasperation (and kept re-adding him no matter how many times Mei deleted him)) popped up. Mei gave a tiny sigh of relief as it was revealed that he actually was texting normally, not sending some sort of fancy e-vite that would automatically label him as “Annoying Rich Kid.” Thank god he was at least _acting_ normal.

**yellow-clad idiot** hello friends. i was wondering if any of u wanted to come over to my house this weekend to be unhealthy

**grain of rice boy** how unhealthy are we being

**yellow-clad idiot** that was fast

**grain of rice boy** as soon as i saw the word unhealthy i was interested

**Winry** 🔧 ...elaborate.

**yellow-clad idiot** like,,,,i’m inviting all of u guys to my house on saturday at 7pm to like

 **yellow-clad idiot** eat unhealthy snacks and watch something

 **yellow-clad idiot** thats what people with friends do right

**Hawk Mom 🦅** All of us?

**yellow-clad idiot** everyone in the group chat, ye

**Cold Rice Girl 🍚** This seems?? vaguely suspicious

**yellow-clad idiot** wym?? im serious here. i have popcorn and netflix & hulu without ads

**grain of rice boy** unnecessary flex much?

**Horse Boy** i’m with Lan Fan, is this a setup for our murder? Be honest

**yellow-clad idiot** no!!! why does everyone have trust issues here????

**Hawk Mom 🦅** Have you honestly met a member of our generation who DOESN’T have trust issues?

**Angel Boy ❤️❤️** Valid point.

**yellow-clad idiot** ok so i guess you guys don’t know me that well but mei and lan fan can vouch that i am a 100% ok legal human being and 500% not a mass murderer

**the pink one** more like 98% ok human

 **the pink one** but ya what he said

**Panini** seems legit. what snacks u got

**yellow-clad idiot** chips, popcorn, incredibly unhealthy snack cakes, those milano cookies, twizzlers, assorted capitalism candy, goldfish

 **yellow-clad idiot** if yall want anything else just say so i can buy it

**Horse Boy** so you’re rich?

**Winry** 🔧 capitalism candy???

**the pink one** he means m&ms and gummi bears and the like. commercial brands etc

**Cold Rice Girl 🍚** Yes. he’s rich. has been and will be. and the only thing he uses money for is snacks 

**Cold Rice Girl 🍚** and even then he bugs me for more money to buy more snacks

**yellow-clad idiot** them’s the facts

**Angel Boy ❤️❤️** Do you have anything less carbohydrated?

**grain of rice boy** don’t mind my brother he’s temporarily insane

**yellow-clad idiot** k i won’t

**the pink one** so how many ppl are coming?

**Panini** me

**Cold Rice Girl 🍚** Me, for damage control if nothing else

**grain of rice boy** me

**Angel Boy ❤️❤️** I will.

**Winry** 🔧 Same here

**Horse Boy** Me

 **Horse Boy** and riza don’t you dare skip this for homework

**Hawk Mom 🦅** I’m coming too.

**the pink one** me too obvs

**yellow-clad idiot** that settles it! everyone’s coming! yay!!!! thank u all

* * *

Mei sighed and pulled out her phone to text Ling for the fourth time in half as many minutes. She was leaning against the uncomfortable pillar of his unreasonably big and fancy mansion, waiting for the dumbass she had the misfortune to call a half-brother to open the door. Sure, she had arrived early, but that was what younger siblings _did_. They annoyed the tar out of their older siblings by any means necessary—it was practically in the job description. Really, he should have expected this, instead of replying to her texts with “1 sec” every time she asked for him to FREAKING OPEN THE DOOR ALREADY.

“I am going to murder Ling Yao,” she told the empty yard. She stated this frequently, although she had never followed through. Yet.

A sparrow twittered. It was probably cheering her on.

Mei had already typed out yet another order for the door to be opened and was checking to see if it was scathing enough when the door did, in fact, open. Ling stood in the doorway, clad in yet another yellow hoodie (did he have some sort of collection? Mei wouldn’t put it past him).

“Please, come in,” he said in what seemed to be the most stuck-up butler voice he could manage.

Mei grinned. “You know, the effect of one using a butler voice is severely diminished when one is wearing a yellow Assassination Classroom hoodie.”

Ling glanced down self-consciously at his hoodie, which displayed the trademark creepy smile of Koro-sensei. The boy had no taste. At least display a _pleasant_ anime character, if you were going to have one emblazoned across your front at all. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing at all, my dear weebiest brother. Now, show me what was so urgent that you had to leave your _favorite_ sister waiting for four whole minutes.”

“Right, yes, of course, madam,” he declared, again adopting the butler voice. With a dramatic sweeping motion, he ushered her inside and shut the door. “Right this way.”

Mei followed him down the wide halls she knew well, having wandered through the estate several times previously. After school, when Uncle Scar had to work late and couldn’t pick her up, she had ridden the bus home with Ling and the other rich kids they both felt out of place with. This had happened enough times that her uncle (well, he wasn’t really her uncle, but he might as well be) had started to feel guilty, and Mei could tell he still did even after she had explained that staying in her half-brother’s mansion for a couple of hours every few afternoons and watching anime was _absolutely_ fine, even though Ling’s mom was kind of a bitch and always looked at Mei like she was an interloper. The first time it had happened, Mei had scurried back into the living room not knowing what she had done wrong, but after Ling had assured her that his mother was, objectively, a bitch, she had adopted the response of staring back with her most scathing look that she liked to think had been passed down through generations of Chang women.

This made most people uncomfortable, and after a few times of doing it to Ling’s mom (Mei refused to call her Ms. Yao), the you-are-a-pile-of-dog-dung-I-stepped-in-with-my-stiletto-that-costs-more-than-your-rent glares had ceased. Ling’s mom’s presence at the manor had also ceased, actually—when she had asked, Ling had explained that she had been promoted and now worked at her law firm much more. 

This, obviously, was entirely fine by Mei.

“You know, it would probably be better for everyone’s well-being if you dropped the weird butler act,” she suggested, examining her nails with her pink-sneaker-clad feet on autopilot, following Ling to his spacious game room. She had painted them a lovely shade of metallic rose gold for the occasion—look at her, branching out like the Well-Adjusted Teenager she was—and she was _not_ chipping the paint anytime soon, no way, no how. And anyone who caused her to break them would get a dagger to the throat. It was a pity she hadn’t brought her throwing knives, now that she thought about it. Although she didn’t really have a place to put them, clad as she was in a simple dusky pink turtleneck and loose white pants. 

“And why might that be, oh esteemed sister? Choose your next words carefully, now,” Ling sang, shoving aside the game room’s sliding door. The game room was Ling’s home base, his headquarters—actually, it was just the room with the biggest TV, but Mei could let him dream. It was about as large as Mei’s entire apartment, with two walls covered in windows almost always obscured by thick curtains. Whenever she opened them, even just a little, Ling would hiss like a cave-dwelling demon and pretend to dissolve in the tiny chink of sunlight, so she had learned to just let them stay closed. 

“Because a) it’s just weird and b) no one is going to take a butler wearing an anime hoodie seriously,” Mei explained, plopping down onto the couch. It was more like a throne—measuring nearly fifteen feet long when stretched out completely, the couch was an extremely squishy masterpiece of functional comfort, made up of three five-foot sections with hinges between them so they could be bent into any shape the user wanted. It also had cupholders. Just about every piece of furniture in Ling's house had cupholders.

“And again, you bring up the hoodie. Why, are you jealous of my exquisite taste?” Ling grinned.

Mei wrinkled her nose. “Absolutely not. And if I may ask, just how many different yellow hoodies do you own? Bonus points if you can cross-reference with your yellow anime hoodies.”

His eyes adopted a glassy look, and Mei could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. “I...don’t know,” he said, as if genuinely surprised at his lack of knowledge. “A lot, I would guess.”

Mei made a derisive “kuh” sound. “Mhm. Try ‘too many.’”

Ling looked offended and threw himself down on the couch dramatically, the throw pillows around him jumping as he sank deep into the cushions. “To think a member of my own family would say such a thing! One can never have too many yellow hoodies.”

“You seem to be testing that theory.”

“What’s science without experimentation?”

Mei hooked her legs over the back of the sofa and flipped herself upside down. Deciding to take the subject off of Ling’s fashion taste (a labyrinth they had explored before but had since never found the end of), she asked “When’s everyone else coming?”

Ling pulled out his phone and grinned. “Lan Fan said she’ll be here ‘quite soon’--”

“Of course she will,” Mei muttered, smirking as she saw Ling’s face turn a satisfyingly red color. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, then continued. “And Ed said he and Al are on their way. Riza said yesterday that she and Roy might be a little late, something about a university project.”

Mei was nothing if not a devious matchmaker. “A project, hmm?” 

Ling didn’t get it. “Yeah, like organic chemistry or something. She didn’t give details.” He shrugged. 

Mei hummed thoughtfully. It was boring when the person you were talking to didn’t have the same conspiratorial mind as you did, even if they did share half your chromosomes. Or something like that. She had never been good with genetics--Alphonse was the one that memorized all those As and Ns or whatever, as well as the names and functions of different muscles, while she was more adept with bones, chemical compounds, and existing medicines. After being present for the tail end of one of their study sessions in the med school’s library, Ed had remarked that the only reason they were even getting through the program with the grades they had was because they studied together all the time and divided the workload. Alphonse had been a bit offended, but the comment had made Mei kind of happy. 

Ling’s phone buzzed. He fumbled for it, then grinned his million-watt smile that he reserved for Lan Fan and food. The one that was ginormous, impossibly wide, and sometimes unsettling to people that didn’t know him well. “Mei-mei, can you get a bag of chips? Lan Fan says she’s here.”

“Don’t call me Mei-mei.” She somersaulted to her feet and headed into the kitchen. It was more like a kitchenette, as it was technically the game room’s kitchen, but it had a freezer, fridge, sink, and even an oven, so it already had something her apartment’s kitchenette did not. Yep--as well as all the furniture coming with cupholders, Ling’s rooms had their own side rooms. And sometimes the side rooms had side rooms.

“Whatever you say, Mei-mei.” He paused. “Ha! That rhymes. I’m so smart.”

“If you were smarter, you’d get better grades,” Mei called over her shoulder. She lorded her higher grade point average over his every chance she got. It was the human right of a younger sibling, and one of life’s little joys.

“I’ll _have you know_ that I got a 102 on my last Political Science exam.” 

“And to whose credit does that go to? Yours or Lan Fan’s with her never-ending reserves of patience?” Lan Fan was indubitably the only reason Ling hadn’t flunked out at this point. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart--although Mei would pitch herself off a cliff before admitting that fact out loud--it was just that he didn’t enjoy work and also didn’t do things he didn’t enjoy by choice. 

Ling pretended not to hear her and leaped up, heading for the front door to welcome Lan Fan, hopefully without the butler voice. “Hush, child.”

He was gone before she could reprimand him because she was _not_ a child, she was in medical school and that definitely counted to make her the equivalent to at least an 18-year-old.

Mei harrumphed and grabbed a bag of barbeque-flavor potato chips from the snack basket (barbeque was obviously the best flavor, anyone who said otherwise was deeply flawed). If Lan Fan didn’t like them, Mei might have to revisit her previous assessment of “way too good for my dumbass brother.” 

She was sprawled across the couch, munching on slivers of delicious unhealthiness when an apprehensive-looking Lan Fan was led into the cave-like game room by an excited Ling. “’Sup,” Mei mumbled around a mouthful of chips as the two came back through the sliding door. Lan Fan nodded in her direction and sat down carefully, flicking her dark eyes around the room, apprehensive. Mei could sympathize—the house had seemed daunting beyond belief during the first few times she had been there, and to her knowledge Lan Fan had declined nearly all of Ling’s previous invitations, so this would be one of her first visits.

“Uh, hello,” she said softly.

Mei heaved herself up into a sitting position and offered Lan Fan the bag of chips. “Chip?”

She took a few with her flesh hand. “Thanks.”

Mei grinned. So Lan Fan liked barbeque flavor--either that, or she was pretending to for Mei’s benefit, which Mei couldn’t really see her doing because a) that wasn’t how Lan Fan did things to her knowledge and b) she didn’t really have anything to gain from it. The kernel of (completely justified!) suspicion at her friend’s snack preferences disappeared completely. 

“So.” Mei said after a few seconds, turning her gaze on her friend. She was always the one to break the silence--always had been, really. At least she knew when to shut up now; a few years ago, she had been a whole different story. “Favorite anime. Go.”

Lan Fan blinked, then adopted a calculating expression, brows pulled together in the kind of intense concentration Mei only saw when she was trying to complete a particularly difficult combination kick. For Lan Fan, it seemed, everything required the same amount of focus, and that amount was more than Ling had in his entire body. More than Mei had, too, probably.

Ling draped himself over the back of the sofa between them. “Ooh, anime? Come on, Lan Fan, you have plenty of favorites.”

Lan Fan made a tiny noise Mei likened to a squeak. “Um, well--”

Mei came to her rescue. “Shut up, dear weebiest brother, and let the woman think.”

“Fineeee…”

There was an expectant silence as Lan Fan mulled over her choices. “I really liked Demon Slayer,” she said at last. “And that’s what I can think of right now. I don’t watch much anymore, actually, just on my laptop when I have free time.” Which none of them had anymore, except Ling, who made his own free time through a seemingly alchemical process, much to the disappointment of basically everyone around him but himself. 

Ling and Mei nodded as one, one of the only expressions they shared, given their difference in personalities despite their relation. “Correct. You have the right opinions,” Ling declared solemnly.

There was a distant thump and muffled conversation from beyond the game room’s sliding door. Three sets of footsteps drew nearer. One of the voices, a male one, loudly said “I _know_ that” before fading back into incomprehensible murmur. Oh, so it was Ed.

“Oi, Ling. Can we come in?” There was a sharp rap at the sliding door. 

“But of course, dear friends!” Ling swung his arms wide, although their new guests weren’t able to see him. Unneeded theatrics seemed to be a characteristic of the Yao family. They were a characteristic of the Chang family, too, if Mei was honest with herself. 

There was a muffled grunt and another thump, followed by a female voice saying “Ed, it’s a _sliding_ door,” followed almost immediately by the door being whisked to the side so hard it rattled on its track, revealing the three towheaded youths (and one dark-haired one) standing in the hall. Ed was in the front, looking a bit embarrassed and wearing that same tacky red hoodie he wore to every martial arts class--did he even wash that thing? She doubted it--and behind him were Winry, Alphonse, and a grinning Paninya. 

Mei smiled at Alphonse, then turned to Ed, the smile quickly morphing into a smirk in a fraction of a second. “How _ever_ did you figure out how to get in?”

He shrugged. “I texted Ling a while ago, and he told me where the key was. I figured there wasn’t really a reason to ring the doorbell.”

Mei sighed. Leave it to Edward Elric to completely bulldoze through a perfectly scathing insult with the sheer force of his dumbassery. How was he in college again?

“ _Anyway_ ,” Winry said, shoving ahead of Edward. “Thanks for inviting us, Ling.”

“Don’t push me, woman,” Ed mumbled, but was quickly silenced by a deadly look from Winry. “Yeah. What she said. Thanks, dude.”

“No problemo,” Ling responded, waving an airy hand. “Please, sit, there’s room for all of us. And we have snacks.” Mei raised the bag of BBQ chips in acknowledgement before going back to stuffing her face. Her fingers would be stained a different color from all the oil accumulated on them, she was sure. But hey, it was exfoliating. Or was it? No, it wasn’t, but she could still tell herself that.

Ed moved first, practically throwing himself down onto the couch to sprawl next to Ling with a sharp exhale. Winry followed more slowly, sitting down next to him like a normal human being, while Paninya sat on the edge of the sofa, just inside the bordering arm. Al picked his way through the rapidly growing sea of legs to sit on the other edge, next to Mei and two seats down from Lan Fan.

Next. To Mei.

Ambulance sirens. Weeewooooweeewoooodon’tbeSTUPID.

“Chip?” Mei offered him the bag of rapidly disappearing barbeque chips. Nice, Mei, very smooth. Now _don’t be stupid._

He gave her that big angel smile that was just _oh so gorgeous ajksdkfdklja_ (was keyboard smashing in her mind the only way to express her emotions right now? Apparently so). “Thanks!”

After a short time, much of which involved Mei having to walk back and forth between the kitchenette and the couch, each time laden with more unhealthy snack foods, everyone was happily munching on the refined carbohydrate of their choice and listening to each other talk about everything and nothing, their anxieties about responsibilities and upcoming assignments fading with the setting sun. Ling gesticulated wildly with both his arms, nearly whacking Lan Fan in the face during his dramatic reenactment of “the time I ate a boot on a dare you remember that don’t you Ed I’m going to get you back for that someday.” The only people missing were Riza and Roy--they _had_ said they would come, hadn’t they? 

“Anyone want to watch something?” Ling asked, interrupting his own story (and just when he had gotten to the part about the giant snake!). Lan Fan slapped his hand away from the remote when he reached for it.

“Your hands are covered in Cheeto dust. Don’t even think about it,” she said in response to his wounded look. “I’ll handle this.”

“You care more about my belongings than I do,” Ling huffed, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. 

“That’s quite correct,” Lan Fan said, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards into a rare smile. “Now,” she murmured, “Suggestions for what we should watch?” She flicked through Ling’s Netflix recommended, which was, in Mei’s opinion, disturbing (and that was putting it mildly.) “No...no...no... _definitely_ not...what have you been _watching_? Are you ashamed of any of these titles at all? ”

“Not in the slightest,” Ling responded cheerily. 

“That makes one of us,” Lan Fan muttered, flicking through the rest without stopping for longer than a second on any of them. “How about something normal, like The Office?”

“Overhyped,” Ed said immediately, around a mouthful of potato chips.

Winry elbowed him. “You’ve never even watched it, idiot.”

Ed shrugged. “Anything with that much praise has to be at least a little overhyped.” 

“Fair point,” Paninya conceded. 

Lan Fan appeared to be deep in thought. “We could watch Haikyuu, I think they would all like that--”

Ling grinned, showcasing the Cheeto dust staining his teeth. “That’s just because you have a crush on the entire cast.”

“I do _not,_ ” Lan Fan huffed. She tossed her bangs out of her eyes. “And might I remind you, this is coming from the guy who had a crush on—”

“All of your accusations are unfounded,” Ling interrupted airily.

Mei smiled around her chips, surveying the bickering pair. It was rare seeing Lan Fan this open and unguarded, not to mention talkative. And it only took a night of potato chips and free TV. Who knew?

Ed leaned across Ling to poke Lan Fan’s shoulder. “No, tell us. What anime character did he have a crush on?”

Ling’s smile vanished as Lan Fan opened her mouth to respond. “Say the name and I won’t hesitate,” he warned.

“Come on, tell us,” Winry wheedled, grinning. Paninya’s eyes were alight with the specific subset of happiness and anticipation only produced when watching someone who is about to suffer dearly. 

Ling and Lan Fan appeared to be having a sort of intense staring contest. 

Ling narrowed his eyes. “Your next words will be engraved on your tombstone.”

“You can’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Very.” She paused. “But I’m going to be nice today. I won’t reveal your waifu of choice if you duel me and win.”

This was...unexpected. Though not entirely so. This was exactly what everyone did to solve their disputes, wasn't it?

Al raised a hand to shoulder level, like a child unsure of whether he knew the answer to a question. “...do you mean spar? Or does Ling have swords just lying about?”

“Both,” Ling and Lan Fan answered simultaneously, then looked at each other accusingly. Mei stifled a giggle. Ling _did_ have swords just “lying about” (two, in fact). His _dao_ was a source of pride for him, and even Mei had to admit he was pretty good at swinging a blade around. And of course, her appreciation for the art of swordplay had only grown when Ling had broken his mother’s prize vase one fateful afternoon during a particularly enthusiastic parrying routine. Anything that caused that pinch-faced woman to scream at such a high note held a status close to sacred in Mei’s book.

Lan Fan sighed. “We’re going to spar. No-holds-barred, just keep the other person down. If the winner is me, I get to reveal his waifu and I get the biggest bowl of popcorn. He wins, he gets the biggest bowl of popcorn. Sound fair?”

“Not at all,” Ling huffed. “You get two things if you win. I only get one. How is that fair?”

Lan Fan quirked her mouth to the side. “It’s fair because I said it’s fair, okay? Paninya, you mediate. Or whatever. You’re the least biased among us.”

“Meaning I’m an entity of chaos,” Paninya added, which was entirely true.

“Do you always work out your problems like this?” Alphonse wondered aloud. 

Mei shrugged. She and Ling did bicker quite a lot (as siblings did) and sometimes shows of strength were necessary to prove she was correct. Her daggers versus his sword, the only outcome being who got to choose the show they watched--it was almost poetic.

She didn’t know how he settled his disputes with Lan Fan, though. As far as she knew, Lan Fan was always right, and it was futile to try and prove otherwise.

Mei grabbed another handful of chips (salt & vinegar, second-best after BBQ) and settled into the couch to watch the show. This should be interesting.

“Fighters! Take! Your! Places!” Paninya shouted, deepening her voice to that of a sports announcer.

“Isn’t that line from the Cars movie?” Ed whispered. Winry elbowed him a second time, but Mei noticed that she was fighting to hold back a smile. 

Lan Fan and Ling took their ready positions a few feet away from the coffee table. “Shouldn’t we move some of the furniture?” Winry asked dubiously, glancing around the room. There weren’t as many breakable objects in the immediate vicinity as there were in the other rooms in the house, but there were still enough to cause quite a large mess if things got out of hand. 

“Nah, the more we break, the more pissed my mom will be and the happier I’ll be,” Ling said. “The only thing I’m worried about breaking is the sacred idol of the TV.” 

“Don’t hit the TV, then,” Mei said, grinning. Ling turned to glare at her again, and, spying an opening, Lan Fan immediately lunged forwards, aiming to sweep Ling’s legs out from under him with a well-placed kick. Ling leaped backwards just in time, and lashed out with his right leg in retaliation. Lan Fan ducked under his foot, commando-rolled, and came up behind him in a crouch. Her hair was all but free of its normal topknot, and the dark strands were falling all over her face, so it took Mei a while to see--but yes, Lan Fan was smiling, really smiling, more than the small grins or smirks that usually conveyed her emotions, but smiling ear-to-ear like Ling always did.

“Go for the throat!” Ed called, tossing another miniature cookie into his mouth.

“Don’t kill each other!” Alphonse countered.

Ling spun around and snap-kicked; Lan Fan dodged to the right and grabbed his leg, aiming to make him fall. He wrenched out of her grasp and spun around with another kick; she ducked and skittered out of range, still with the huge grin on her face. Mei mused that the fight would have had a crowd of normal people staring in awe, but in a room full of teens who took classes at Izumi’s dojo, it made slightly less of an impression. That wasn’t to say it wasn’t still badass and spectacular, of course.

“Wait, wait, hold on a sec,” Ling panted, rubbing his ankle. “Can I take off my hoodie?”

Paninya nodded, holding her tanned hands in a T formation. Ling squirmed out of his hoodie, tossing it onto the couch. It was quite dramatic, really, like when the protagonist casts away his cloak before he fights the final villain. 

“Lan Fan? Aren’t you hot?” Ling asked, nodding to her ever-present black sweatshirt that fell almost to her knees. 

Lan Fan shook her head, self-consciously tugging the sleeve over the glint of metal on her left hand. “I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself. Now, resume!” Paninya cried, leaning into the sports announcer persona with a bit too much gusto.

Ling launched himself at his opponent, who neatly twisted away and aimed a chop at his flying arm. It connected, and the accompanying wince of pain was felt by everyone around the room. Most of them knew firsthand just how painful Lan Fan’s pinpoint karate-chops could be, and those who hadn’t constantly prayed they wouldn’t.

His other arm came swinging around and slammed into the back of her knee, making her stumble. He rolled, got up, and took advantage of her unbalanced state to neatly sweep her legs out from under her and pin her to the ground.

Mei let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. There was no way Lan Fan could get out of that hold. Ling was much stronger than she was when it came to brute strength; Lan Fan was better at redirecting an opponent’s force and dodging. Had he won?

“Do you yield?” he asked imperiously from his perch atop Lan Fan, sounding for all the world a knight who had won a jousting tournament.

Lan Fan scowled, then winced in pain.

Mei could see his grip loosening. _Of course_ he would _never_ want to cause her pain. Weakling. She let a tiny grin curve the corner of her mouth upwards. Oh, this would be fun. 

A grin spread across Lan Fan’s reddened face. “Never!” she cried, then kicked her legs up and rolled to the side, effectively dislodging her captor. Taking advantage of Ling’s surprised state, she neatly dropped on top of him, pinning his arms and legs to the floor. “Do _you_ yield?”

There was a few seconds’ silence as they both caught their breath, neither making a move. Mei had the unnerving feeling that Ling was actually enjoying being pinned to the floor by someone who had just soundly kicked his ass. She’d have to talk to him about that later.

“Fine,” he grumbled, blowing his bangs out of his eyes.

The door to the game room slid open.

There, silhouetted in the light from the hallway, stood Riza and Roy with varying levels of confusion on their faces. 

Mei could see Riza’s eyebrows rise to disappear behind her pale bangs. “What the hell…?”

Lan Fan began spluttering in confusion, trying to explain as her ever-present blush steadily grew pinker. She’d always gotten flustered so easily, and her reactions showed in the reddening of her skin. Within a few seconds, she’d be the color of a tomato from her forehead to her collarbone.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mei saw Ling’s triumphant grin and opened her mouth to shout a warning. 

She was too late. Ling somersaulted backward with nearly inhuman speed, coming to rest with his legs firmly pinning down Lan Fan’s and his hands tightly cinched around her forearms.

“Gotcha. Do you yield _now_?” he asked, smirking as she glared at him with a stare that would usually reduce him to an apologizing mess. But now, when both of them were too pumped full of adrenaline and the complete absence of their daily anxieties, it just made him smile wider.

She grunted and tilted her head to the side, black bangs covering her eyes. “Fine. You win.”

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Roy said quietly, looking as if he wanted to back away, but was a bit too scared to do so. “Not even gonna ask.”

Art is by Ash. Check out her [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/miralia)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this extra-long chapter! Sorry if I rambled on too long. I just really love the Lan Fan/Ling/Mei dynamic. Forgive me for this self-indulgence.
> 
> And yes, these anime characters like anime. I’ve said it five times and I’ll say it again: please don’t look too hard.


End file.
